Fantasy, Nightmare, Reality
by birdie7272
Summary: Sometimes your mind can play tricks on you. It can make you see and hear things that aren't really there. John always thought he could handle anything that came his way. That was until the suicide of his best friend and flatmate Sherlock Holmes. But if he was truly gone then why can John still see him? What happens if he actually comes back? Johnlock. hallucination!Sherlock
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **John POV.

This was going to side project one-shot, then a couple of chapters, but then I laughed in the face of simplicity.

1st person is not my usual. It is what I'm most worried about. Therefore your reviews are much appreciated so I know how I'm doing with it.

Enjoy :) (This chapter is kind of prologue-ish)

* * *

At first I felt numb.

I didn't stay at the flat for a while. It was just too hard. I only went back to get my things for Harry's.

Even then I was just stuck sitting in the living room. I didn't know what to do. There were too many questions. There was no one left to answer them.

I only took what I needed but I also secretly took something else. Mrs. Hudson had said she would pack up some of his things. The equipment I didn't much care about. It wasn't of value to him. It could all be replaced. But not his violin.

I never did find out where he got it. I guessed I would never know. I would never know why it was the one sentimental thing he kept. Along with his scull but I was sure Mrs. Hudson would not touch that. I really didn't feel like touching it either.

Living with Harry was easier than I had thought. Of course, she was tiptoeing around me. She knew I wasn't really reacting or processing and I think she was afraid to send me over the edge. She just let me be and continued on with her life.

Honestly I ignored her. I kept to myself. I didn't need to worry about if she was drinking or not. I couldn't deal with it.

I really couldn't deal with anything.

I had to take off work for a bit. I actually took off from the world for a bit. I couldn't go out, couldn't go online, couldn't watch the TV, couldn't look at my phone, couldn't read the paper. Everything had to do with him. People wouldn't let it alone.

Of course the news took hold of the story. It was broadcasted worldwide as some big scandal. They had a field day with it, each station giving their own opinion. That of course led to everyone finding out. If they hadn't already.

The media flooded my work on more than one occasion. Looking for me. Sarah shooed them off as best she could. When they realized I wasn't coming, they stopped showing up. I can only imagine how often they went to the flat.

I made the mistake of looking on the blog once. I had honestly hoped for some sign from him. Telling me it was all some kind of cruel joke. At the time I believed it was. I was looking for something only we would understand. But after ten minutes I had to shut it off. There were too many people. People who gave their condolences. People who said it was all fake. People who left hateful messages about how he did the right thing. People who hid behind the virtual world and being left anonymous. It was sickening. I couldn't read more.

My email was the same. Friends, family members, and strangers all taking a whack at giving their opinions. I closed it out but the notifications still came. I shut down my computer and took the battery out.

Luckily strangers didn't get my phone number. That didn't mean it wasn't ringing off the hook from people I knew. I had thought about answering but I just couldn't bring myself to talk to anyone. I laughed a bit once at it. Because I was acting like him. Antisocial. Not wanting to talk to people.

Texts flew in when I didn't return the calls. I read them and let them sit unanswered. After a few days the people behind the messages became more and more worried. They threatened to call my sister or come visit me. So I answered them all the same: _I'm Fine._

I was fine. I couldn't explain it.

I went through my days the same. Eating, reading, tea, sleeping.

Reading was harder than I would have liked to admit. Everything reminded me of him and that went the same for every word. I would have to stop more than once just to clear my head to try and focus on whatever story I was reading at the time. Needless to say, the plots didn't stick that well.

One night Harry came to check on me.

"You can't keep doing this." She hadn't said anything before that so I was very confused as to what she was talking about. She was just in the doorway of her guest room, the room where I was staying, crossing her arms with a pout on her face.

"Doing what?" I was just reading a book in bed. I found it the most comfortable place to sit. My leg had started to act up again and resting it straight out was most pleasant.

"Acting like you're fine."

"I am fine."

"No John. You're best friend just killed himself. You are not fine." She had a point. I knew she did but I didn't want to admit it. I was doing fine and if I had to face the fact that I wasn't, it would all be too much. I was fine pretending because it would hurt less. "Now if you're not going to talk to me about it…you need to find someone."

She left after that.

I did think about what she said after she left. I spent an hour or two just looking up at the ceiling thinking. I did that more often. He really had rubbed off on me. The only difference was that ridiculous pose he had with his fingers poised under his chin.

I tried it once. To see if it would help me think better. And it also sort of felt like I should try it. Just once. It didn't work though. It just made me think of him so I dropped my hands and went back to looking at the ceiling tiles.

After thinking about it for a few days I decided my sister was probably right. I didn't like to admit that much. Sibling rivalry and all. Nothing like his though.

Even the thought of Mycroft would get my blood boiling in an instant. There was no way I didn't blame him for this. It was his fault. He was the one who gave the information that led to...I couldn't think of him long though because then the emotion would start to show and I was afraid if I showed some, it would all come spilling out.

Who best to spill out your emotions to than a stranger right? Well since I didn't have the pleasure of talking to a stranger due to my infamous relationship with the media sensation I decided the next best thing: therapist.

I wasn't the biggest fan of my therapist. I wasn't really a big fan of therapy to begin with. But I thought I should go. As much as I wanted to stay numb, the doctor in me told me it wasn't healthy.

I don't like that guy sometimes.

She made me talk about it. She made me say what happened. I don't know if she believed me completely. Not all of it. He was a hard man to grasp. But I told her.

She didn't really help much. They say talking about it will make you feel better. I think that's untrue. She just made me face the questions that I had already pushed to the back of my head. The question that stuck out most to me was about what I would say to him now, that I hadn't been able to say before.

Oh god there was so much I wanted to say.

I wanted to tell him he was a bleeding bastard for one. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry. I wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault. I wanted to tell him how much he mattered. I wanted to tell him how many people appreciated him. I wanted to tell him how much I appreciated him.

I wanted to tell him to come back. He could be as crazy and asinine as he wanted as long as he came back. Leave the flat a mess, play your violin at 3am, I would even buy him his own gun to shoot at the wall as long as he came back.

I wanted to tell him how much I miss him. How much he means to me. How I don't feel right without him. I didn't want to go on without him. How important he was in my life and in my heart.

I wanted to tell him how he saved me.

He would have hated that of course. Too much sentiment laid out on top of him. He wouldn't know what to do with it.

His circuit would fry from overload.

Of course I would make that joke. It was a way of punishing myself for what I said to him in the lab. I didn't really mean it. I really needed to control my anger better.

So the therapist really only opened a can of worms. I spent that night going through every question that popped into my mind and facing it rather than stuffing it in some bin somewhere like he would have. Maybe that was all he really did. Repress instead of delete. Maybe that's what deleting was. If so, I was rather good at it.

Not that night though. That night I faced it all.

Yes, I cried. Everything was so much. I pictured him there. I could see him so clearly in my mind poking fun at my sentiment.

I yelled at him in my head. Sometimes yelling out loud without meaning to. Lucky for me Harry was out that night. Her neighbors probably got an earful.

I had finally taken out that violin. I had it hidden in my bag still. Out of sight so I wouldn't be reminded. Then it was there and I knew it and I had to get it out. I looked at it, touched it, again looked for any clues he might have left. I ran my fingers on the strings, put it up to my chin, I even plucked a note or two. It didn't hold any secrets. It felt very heavy in my hands.

I didn't sleep much that night. I was trying to figure it all out. I couldn't do it. I was ashamed at how broken I was.

It was like I was back right after the war. How can a person have PTSD over their friend? I suppose my circumstances could call for something like that though.

Over and over and over again I could just picture how he looked. Falling and falling. Me screaming.

I stood on my bed once. I wanted to know what he was thinking. What he was feeling. I stood on the end of my bed and looked over trying to picture it all. How he could do it I never would understand. I never was one for heights though.

I felt so lost that night. The room was crushing me. My thoughts were crushing me. I couldn't push myself through. It was all so much. I didn't want any of it. I didn't want to face anything. I couldn't deal with it.

I had only really wanted to kill myself once before. Right now the thought plagued me. I knew if I tried he wouldn't forgive me. I would be copying him. He wouldn't get his dramatic exit.

I ended up sobbing and slowly falling back into the bed as my leg started to hurt and spasm.

I was like that for a few days. I wouldn't talk to Harry, though she did come to check on me when hearing me one night.

I didn't see the therapist again. She would just tell me to write a blog about it. I wasn't about to go on my blog.

Then I started to get a bit better. I realized if I pushed down and set aside all of this, let myself get a bit numb again, I could move. I was starting to get sick of doing nothing with my time. I decided to go back to work.

My first day back was easy going. Sarah was glad I was there and she gave me a light workload. There were no reporters and I didn't run into much trouble.

Slowly I got back into habit. I started to go to work every day.

I was still numb though. I had confronted myself but it was all still there, dragging me down. Of course people couldn't see that. They would want to talk about it. Try to fix me. So I stored it away.

I found it comforting to picture him there. Talk to him about random things. Not really about what had happened. It hurt but it hurt more not to picture him.

After a few weeks I decided to move out of my sister's.

She tried to get me to stay or look for a new place but I couldn't do it. I needed to go back to 221B.

Mrs. Hudson was a wreck when she saw me. She was worried sick about me. Apparently my texts were not enough to ensure I was really okay. So I pushed it all down when I spoke with her. It was hard because seeing her just brought a whole new onslaught of memories but I managed. It was best no one knew how bad I was still hurting.

Going into the apartment was the most difficult. Of course she followed me in. She was worried about my limp and my cane. It was unfortunately a real tell when it came to how I was. She probably knew I wasn't as good as I let on.

When we were inside I found she had indeed bagged most of his things. She went on about sending stuff off to a school and the stuff she didn't know what to do with. She seemed to be doing better than I thought. I knew she had a motherly love for him. She was a strong woman though. She kept herself busy.

"Mrs. Hudson." I interrupted her on a long winded speech about cleaning or something. It was horrible of me but I really had stopped listening. She had mentioned she put his things in his room and saying his name that many times had gotten to me.

"Yes dear?"

"I don't mean to be rude but-"

"You wish to be alone." She had read my mind. I nodded.

"Of course dear. Let me know if you need anything." She scooted out of the room and quietly closed the door behind her as if she was scared of frightening me.

I was left to stare at the room. It was so much more different than when we had left it. The clutter was significantly reduced. It led me to believe I didn't really own much in this place. It was a sad thought really.

The furniture was still the same. Someone like Mrs. Hudson would have needed help to move things like that. So I sat down in my chair. Staring across at his. Everything felt so heavy.

I stayed like that for a while. All the thoughts and questions just kept flooding back. I replayed every conversation I had in Harry's guest room in my head. I replayed some memories. I didn't want to lose the memories. Bad or good it didn't matter as long as he was in them.

My stomach was what made me get up. I hadn't eaten. I thought about calling down to Mrs. Hudson because a quick look in the kitchen showed the lack of food. Of course it was gone. I had been gone for a long time. I didn't call down though. I didn't want to have to talk about it and I didn't want to have to talk about what I did over the past weeks.

I went out on my own, leaving my bag of things on the couch to be unpacked later. My limp made shopping a bit more difficult but I still managed on my own.

Unlucky for me Donovan was there at the same store.

She was nicer to me than usual. She had always been a bit nicer to me but still it was obvious she was tiptoeing around my feelings. I was able to shorten our conversation and skip out soon enough.

Meeting her made me think of Lestrade. It had been a while since I had spoken to him. I gave him a call that night. He was good about it. He avoided all questions about how I was and really just talked about himself and work. Apparently he and his wife were getting a divorce. It made me regret ignoring him but he seemed to understand. He focused on his kids after that. Funny stories about their school days. But he couldn't help himself when I went to hung up.

"But seriously John…how are you?"

"I'm fine. I'll talk to you later alright?"

"Alright. Take care of yourself."

"You too."

By the time I got off the phone I was set out for bed. I didn't have work the next day and I wasn't quite sure how to deal with the idea of waking up in the flat and spending the entire day in it. I thought of making plans to go out. I knew people wanted to see me. I just wasn't sure I would be ready to see them.

My room was homey. That was comforting. Mrs. Hudson had cleaned in there so the dust didn't pile up. I was grateful for that as I fell down on top of my bed. I left everything to be unpacked for the next day. I just needed some sleep.

Waking up in that bed felt right, at first. Within seconds it started to feel very, very wrong. It was right for me to be there, but there was something missing. I remembered what that something was.

No wonder no one had woken me up in the middle of the night for some weird experiment or to chase after criminals. I missed it. It was better than the nightmares that kept me up. They were mixed now: Afghanistan and the roof of St. Bart's.

Still, I went down and made myself something to eat. I couldn't stop the feeling of loneliness that pushed in on me. The flat was too empty and too quiet. It was too empty.

I started to unpack my things. It didn't take too long for my stuff but when I was done I was left to stare at that damned violin. It was teasing me. Taunting me. Where could I put it?

It was his. Completely and utterly his. Who was I to say what to do with it?

I settled on putting it, in its case, on his chair. It seemed right. It felt like he was there.

The rest of that day I spent trying out some TV. The news story had died down enormously and I found I could watch without being triggered into a downward spiral. That was how I spent that day. Just drowning out my mind. That and Mrs. Hudson stopped by quick, just to check on me. She didn't stay very long. I wasn't good company.

The next few days I woke with the same feeling. A few seconds of everything being fine and then the crush of reality. I didn't think it would go away really ever.

Mrs. Hudson would check in on me every day. Keeping tabs. Keeping watch.

That just made me think of Mycroft and his cameras. I flipped them off every once and a while when I thought about it. It didn't really make me feel better but it didn't make me feel worse.

I talked to Lestrade more. We hung out at the pub a few times. I was trying to avoid the alcohol though. I knew it wasn't good to drink in the state I was in. I didn't need alcohol to numb myself like Harry did. I saw the path that led to. I still wouldn't open up to Lestrade about how I was though. I always told him I was fine.

* * *

I tried to avoid his room. The door was closed and a part of me thought it was better that way.

One day I couldn't help it though.

I was on my computer trying to file through my emails. I still avoided the internet and my blog. There was too much on there. I could only imagine how much was on my Facebook. Everyone always feels they can show sympathy over that site. I didn't need the friends of friends of friends to be writing to me though. The blog was probably still a hot zone so I thought email was a good start. There was a lot to go through. A lot of subject lines to read. Deleting all that had his name in it.

I could have sworn I heard something coming from behind that door. My heart leapt to my throat and I stared it down. I hadn't gone in there. I couldn't go in there. I was doing so well at pushing down everything. If I went in there it would be like the night after I went to the therapist's all over again. I couldn't do it again. I barely made it through that night. How could I go through another?

Curiosity got the better of me. I thought since it had been almost four months since it happened, I should be able to go in there. Four months was a long time to not open that room.

I walked to the door and stood in front of it for a long while. I wasn't sure what to expect on the other side. I'd left this space to him because he left my room to me. Most of the time. I never got to see in there. It almost felt wrong to do it now.

I could picture him in there. Doing an experiment, complaining about Mrs. Hudson getting rid of his equipment and hiding it in there so she wouldn't touch it. His room was probably a huge mess. No more mess could be contained in it and that's why it had been moved into their shared space. I could see it if I couldn't even open the door it was so messy.

I was wrong. I pushed the door open easily and stood looking into the dark room. Boxes filled the room mostly. They were full of the things Mrs. Hudson didn't know what to do with. For a moment I hoped she knew what was in them. For all we knew he was making some kind of killer virus that was growing in here. The thought made me laugh. Of course he wouldn't do that but I wouldn't have put it past him. Well it didn't smell like rotting human flesh so I was safe to guess it was probably most of his knickknacks and books.

I walked in finally. It did feel like I was going somewhere I wasn't supposed to. The thought made my leg hurt a bit less. I felt something in this room. I was able to walk over to the bed with almost no help needed from my cane.

His room was nothing like what I thought. It was his, no doubt. The lack of sentimental things, the colorless walls and fabrics, the furniture was his. It was very clean. Very posh. I assumed that would be the case though.

Of course he'd have no problem putting his mess out for me to look at and clean but his room was to remain immaculate. Everything was straight edges and order. I imagined it must be what his mind is like.

Walking around, I put the cane down next to the bed because it was of no use. I went over to his closet. Mrs. Hudson had left his things hanging. I imagined she didn't know what to do with such custom made suits. They were left in the order he left them in. I imagine there was an order anyway and my little mind just couldn't see it.

I fumbled through his wardrobe for a while. I wasn't even sure what I was looking for until I found it. In one of the drawers where he kept his shirts I could see the color purple shining off the light in the room. I always liked him in that purple dress shirt. I didn't know why. I guess it just suited him. I pulled it out and made my way back over to the bed. I wasn't sure why I took it with me. It just felt like I should.

I went over to the bed because I was kind of curious as to what his bed really felt like. Half the time he would end up sleeping on the couch and the other half he didn't really sleep at all. I sat down and found any doubt of the comfort of the bed flying out the window. It was memory foam. A giant queen size memory foam mattress for the man that never sleeps. Why he made me have the upstairs bedroom I'll never really understand. Sometimes I thought he just liked to be a dick for the sake of it.

I found it kind of hard to get up after that. I just found myself staring at that shirt and running my hand through his sheets. Soon I got very tired and I accidentally fell asleep.

It was the first night I didn't have a nightmare in a very long time. I accidentally slept through till late afternoon, much later than I was used to getting up but I supposed my body was trying to catch up.

Waking up was a bit hard. It was like I was wrapped up in a bubble made up of everything him. The thought of leaving it scared me. Like if I left and shut the door, the room would just disappear. So I stayed there as long as I could. But nature called and I had to leave. I didn't shut the door though. I left it open.

The next night after coming home from work and keeping my brain numb with some TV I was growing tired. I stood at the bottom of my stairs for a long time. My cane in my hand. The limp had returned shortly after I left his room. It seemed like such a large climb when there was a perfectly good bed on this floor. So I went to where I left the door open and did the easy thing. I set the alarm on my phone for work the next morning and I let myself sleep.

It was like that for a while. I would go to work, repress everything and act fine, then I would come home and keep myself numb until I slept. Every night I would sleep in his room. I told myself it was because the bed was better and the stairs weren't good for my leg but I knew it wasn't true.

It wasn't like I would unload everything when I entered his room. But for a moment each night, when I knew I was alone, I could feel it. I could feel everything pressing in on me but it was okay because he was there surrounding me. It made it all better somehow.

My limp would always return the next day though. It didn't go unnoticed.

Lestrade and some of my co-workers would hint about how I needed to get a different flat. Their reasons were subtle. The stairs, not being able to afford it on my own, things like that. It wasn't all true. Though I did wonder sometimes why Mrs. Hudson didn't complain about the money. I paid her as much as she would let me which was only what I had been paying before. She had said it was covered. I assumed Mycroft had something to do with it but I didn't much feel like thanking him.

Mrs. Hudson even mentioned moving once.

"You know dear, I would not be offended if you started looking for another flat. I'd understand you know." She would always check in every other day or so, make light conversation, make sure I was eating and taking care of myself before leaving.

"That's alright Mrs. Hudson. I'm perfectly happy here." Happy was a lie. But I was fine. She left it alone after that.

They were really all just telling me to move on with my life and forget about him in the nicest way possible. They were all so subtle about it. Well most were. All except Harry. She pretty much just screamed it.

She was visiting. It was my birthday. I guess she thought I shouldn't be alone. I might have thanked her for it if she didn't start in on me.

We had talked for a while. I drank my tea while she drank her coffee. It might have been spiked. I didn't really want to know the answer so I didn't ask.

"How are you John?" Everyone kept asking me that.

"I'm fine."

"Don't give me that crap. Why haven't you found a new place yet?"

"I like this place."

I did.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Doing what?" I was starting to get angry. Usually people just left me alone after I said I was fine.

"Torturing yourself."

"I'm not torturing myself."

"Look around you! How is this not torture? You see him everywhere you look. You haven't gotten rid of any of his things. You haven't even started looking for another flat mate. You need to move on!"

Really I didn't know what to say to her but I didn't need to think of anything because she just kept pushing on. Apparently she had been thinking of this for a while. She had a whole speech lined up.

"It's not good for you. You of all people should know that Doctor Watson." She said the doctor a bit sarcastically. "It's been half a year. You can't keep putting yourself through this. I mean I can only imagine what his room is like."

She saw me stiffen at mentioning his room. She started to move towards it.

"No! No Harry. Don't you dare!"

I wasn't fast enough with the limp though. She pushed open the already cracked open door and she saw. I really had left most of his stuff there. I had eventually moved the boxes to a corner but you could see nothing else was touched. His clothes still hung in their order, his shirts were still put away. All except the one which I got into the habit of leaving next to the bed while I slept. She must have noticed that though because the bed looked like someone had woken up in it that morning. That was because someone had.

"John." The amount of shock, pity, and all out confusion in her voice said more than I needed to hear. I reached around her and shut the door, most of the way.

"Don't. Just don't." She did.

"You have a shrine for him and you sleep there! You can't keep doing this! You need help. That's coming from me. You hear that? Your drunk of a sister is telling you to go get some help. Will that make you listen?!"

I didn't like the point she was making. I knew what I was doing was a bit not good but I didn't need her to tell me that. I didn't need to hear any of this from her.

"I think you should leave." I started to walk her out but she still had more to say.

"You need to talk to someone at least. Anyone. Mom even! Maybe you'll listen to her."

"I am not talking to mom about this." I didn't need Harry to talk about mom. Harry was a bitch to her most of the time. She didn't deserve to talk about her because what she was really saying was _Maybe you'll listen to her because you're a momma's boy. _

My mother was a wonderful person and she probably would understand and talk to me but really I was too ashamed of myself to do so. She didn't need to know how I was acting. She didn't need to worry. Harry was trouble enough as it was.

She didn't need two broken kids.

"Find someone. Six months John. People don't act like this over a man they only knew for a couple of years who was just a friend. Best friend even. Was he more than that? It's the only thing that makes sense. I mean-"

"Get out!" I had felt the tremors in my hand start up again. She was just making me furious. I wanted her gone. I didn't need more questions to be answered. I didn't need her to try and talk to me. To try and fix me. I didn't need her.

"No! I mean for the love of god John, even this?" She was holding up his violin. I had put it on the windowsill for her visit. I didn't want her to find it sitting on his chair like it had been all this time. I didn't want her to talk about him.

"Put that down." I was inching over slowly. I really didn't want her to get so mad at me when she was holding that. It was out of its case. I needed that to be safe. She shouldn't have even been holding it. No one but him should ever be holding it.

"Sherlock is dead John!"

"Don't you dare say his name!" I lost it at that. I had closed the distance and was screaming in her face at this point. I held the violin in one hand trying not to rip it from her for fear of it breaking. "You need to leave. I don't need your help. I don't want your help. I don't want you around. Get out of my apartment and while you're at it, just get out of my life! I don't need you."

"Fine. You want to keep on pretending everything is fine. Fine." She ripped the violin from my hands before I could stop her and she stomped off towards the door. "You are going to drown in this John. You are going to drown in him. He's dead. You need to accept that and move on. Get help. But don't come to me." She stomped off down the stairs right after throwing the violin on the ground.

I didn't know what her point was in throwing it down like that. I guess she just wanted to hurt me or she wanted me to accept that everything was not fine and that I could be greatly affected by its harm. Well I was greatly affected. I ran over as fast as I could and bent down to pick it up. It was mostly okay. There was a chip in the framework and scratches along the side but nothing was too broken. I set it back down on his chair. I was going to bring it to a shop to have them fix it. I wasn't okay with it being broken like that.

I was pretty shaken to say the least. I didn't really know what to do, I was so mad. So I tried to clean up. I figured I should get rid of anything that made me think of the fight with Harry. I poured out the rest of my tea out and washed the cup. I went back for her cup and sniffed it. I was right. She had spiked it. I dumped it out and left it there.

There was whiskey in the back of one of the cabinets. I had managed to stay away from drinking this entire time but it seemed to be calling me. I knew how wrong it was. Especially after spending the day with Harry.

I didn't think I could stay numb on my own though. Not after that fight. And I really didn't want to have to face another night like before. I didn't have the guarantee that I would make it through.

As I held the whiskey in my hand I thought about calling Lestrade. Maybe if I went out to a bar with him it would be better. I really didn't want to talk though.

So I started drinking.

I hated myself for it. That was until I was completely drunk. I just sat there with the TV on, not really watching, with a sad smile on my face.

I was right plastered by the time I went off to bed. I stumbled over to his room. I wasn't about to change because of my sister. I stumbled in and crashed on the bed making sure I stayed on my side in case I felt sick later. I was sure the morning wouldn't be good. I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to think about anything.

So I slept.

I woke up early the next morning. It was still dark out.

I always was like that when I drank. I always woke up far too soon and could never fall back asleep. The hangover is to blame.

The hangover wasn't what woke me up this time though. It was there, don't get me wrong. But what woke me was the low baritone voice that shook me to my core.

"John, what are you doing in my bed?"

* * *

**AN: **For 1st person I'm trying for more about what he's thinking than what he's doing. If that makes sense. You'll see more later on.

Also sorry I'm so American. I try (but not that hard).


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 1:**

Needless to say I bolted upright. My head didn't appreciate it but I needed to see for myself. That voice only belonged to one man.

And there he stood. Coat billowing, collar turned up. Scarf wrapped around himself. He wore a suit, which one didn't matter. He looked posh in all of them. This one had seen better days though. It was clear it had been worn for some time. Some rips and some scratches lined what I could see. His hair was a bit more shaggy than normal. Curls fell in his eyes. His eyes were a bit darker than normal. I would have said lack of sleep if I didn't know he could take that without problem. He was skinnier than normal too. Like he hadn't eaten in a long time. I wouldn't have been surprised. I was surprised though. Very, very surprised.

"Sh-" I tried to say his name but it got caught in my throat. Thoughts were racing. Was he actually here? Was I dreaming? He of course could read every one of my thoughts.

"No. You are indeed awake." I didn't really believe him. I thought it was still a dream. A very intense dream. "And since you are, I would appreciate it if you got out of my bed. I wish to use it."

"You-"

"You're still drunk John."

"How did you know-" I was a little too stunned to say much else.

"That you were drunk? Please John, you insult me. You left the whiskey bottle out on the counter. No one could consume that much alcohol in that time frame without still being intoxicated in the morning."

"Oh I suppose I did." He stayed in the doorway and I just gaped at him. I could see he was starting to get annoyed. I wanted to laugh at myself. This was a really vivid drunk dream.

"Well." He was looking really annoyed now. It only just clicked that he wanted me to leave his bed.

"Oh. Yes." I walked closer to him, towards the door. I blinked so many times trying to make it clearer but it didn't work. I continued to gape at him. I couldn't get past the questions swimming around in my head. Mostly just one: "How?"

"Later." He responded as he brushed passed me and dumped himself on his bed not bothering to kick off his shoes. I stared at him from the doorway for a moment. I felt a bit lost.

On autopilot my body took me back up to my room and I crashed there.

* * *

There was always a moment each morning right after I woke up where I forgot what happened. Everything was back to the way it was over half a year ago. I would be waking up in my room expecting him to be there looming over me, pulling me out of bed for a case, or he would be downstairs working on some experiment I wouldn't understand. A few seconds later the overwhelming knowledge that everything was not okay and he wouldn't be there would crash over me.

That morning was a bit different. The pounding headache and dizziness from my hangover made everything muddle together. I woke up and remembered the strange dream I had. The fact that it was a dream made the reality crash over me fast that morning. I felt extra heavy.

Then I opened my eyes.

I wasn't in his room. I was in my own room. I thought I must have slept walked. I made to get up so I could get some water and aspirin but found some sitting next to my bed already. I hadn't put that there. I took it without a second thought.

I needed some greasy food for breakfast to clear my head. The fight I had with Harry was starting to circle around me now that I was sober. Even yelling in my head was unpleasant for my headache.

I also had to get up to check on his room. Logically I knew that the room would still be there even if I didn't sleep in it but I couldn't help but need to check.

Limping down the stairs I realized I forgot my cane in his room. My sleepwalking brain probably didn't think I needed it.

I managed not to fall on my way down the stairs. It was a different story when I reached the kitchen though.

I found myself floored when I walked in and found him sitting there in one of his clean suits looking out into nothing with his fingers posed under his chin like he was thinking. I tried to blink the image away but he was still there. I really thought I had gone crazy. I needed to lean on the wall to prevent myself from falling down. My heart rate was going crazy, my breathing was getting ragged. I couldn't see straight.

"Sit down John. There is no point in talking to you if you're just going to pass out on me." His voice called across the kitchen.

I was too stunned to say anything. So that wasn't a dream I had that night. That was real. He was back.

Sherlock was alive.

I went over to the chair across from him and sat down staring at him. I couldn't really believe what I was seeing. Not really. I couldn't let myself. Not after everything I had done to be okay. To be fine.

I found another glass of water sitting out on the table. He pushed it towards me and I took it. One sip was all I could take before my shaking hand made me set it down.

"So you put the water and aspirin upstairs then?" I didn't know what else to ask. As a doctor I knew I was going through some shock but I couldn't focus on it. I couldn't focus on anything.

"I couldn't have you lacking in coherency. You took it." It wasn't a question but I nodded in response. "You have many questions. I can probably tell you what they are but I believe you want to ask them. So which one is first?"

That was a loaded question. It was somewhat comforting to hear his arrogant attitude though. It still didn't make it real but it made me feel relaxed. Questions started buzzing around in my head. I knew what they were but I couldn't seem to latch onto one. I remembered the one I had asked last night and I felt like that was a good start.

"How?"

"Do be more specific. How am I here? How am I alive? How are you? Really you could mean anything." What an ass he was. I loved it.

"Have you eaten anything?" I couldn't help my smile at his frown.

"That was not the question you were going to ask."

"Well it's the question I'm asking now." I got up and started to make myself breakfast finally. I had eggs and even though they weren't as greasy as I would have liked I thought they would work. I set some aside to make for him too. It felt so familiar to be making him food that he probably wouldn't be eating.

"You're stalling. You are showing signs of shock."

"How observant you are." I still felt like laughing. I was probably still dreaming. I was probably still drunk.

"You are not dreaming." He could always read my thoughts.

"Well then what am I doing?"

"If you really need me to tell you what you are currently doing, the perhaps we should wait to have this conversation."

"No. Go on. I'm listening." The eggs sizzled as I put on a pot for tea. It felt odd to grab two cups out instead of my familiar one. His cup hadn't been touched in a long time. I rinsed it out before putting it down next to mine.

I could feel his eyes drilling into the back of me. No doubt he was reading everything I'd been doing since…well ever.

"Very well. I suppose I should start with the fact that I am alive. You're probably wondering how. I am not the first person to fake their own death, as you may be aware." Was he always so dramatic? "I will not go into the details of how until you realize you are not dreaming. Now as far as the reason for being here, I've finished what I had to do and so I am back. I plan to pick up much where I left off. Life is much too dull when I'm forced to hide away."

I finished the food and tea and set it out in front of both of us. Every second that ticked by felt more and more real. I was still sure I was dreaming at this point but it was becoming less and less believable with every word.

"So you faked your death, hid out, and came back six months later. Right. I'm still drunk." I started shoveling food into my mouth. I couldn't deal with this. It wasn't real and I really didn't know what to do.

He looked at me a few more moments. I wasn't looking at him but I could always feel his eyes. Then I saw his hand come out across the table and land to the side of my plate. I looked at it, back at him, back at his hand, and swallowed my food to ask what he was doing. He answered before I could.

"Touch. You won't believe anything I say until you understand that this is real. Physical contact seems operative."

I took another moment to stare at his hand, palm up waiting for me. It was probably infuriating to him. He always hated to be kept waiting. But I was scared. If I touched that hand and this was all real, then everything I made myself believe before was untrue. If I touched that hand and I felt nothing, then nothing had changed but the fact that I drank my grief into a torturing reality would be true. I had always held onto the hope that he did fake his death, that he would come back. That hope was circling around me. I was scared that all the hope I had would crash down away from me, leaving me with nothing.

I had to see though. So I lowered my hand to his, always keeping an eye on it expecting the dream to change at any moment. Then I touched.

I felt.

I could feel his hand under mine and I felt my heart leap. It didn't disappear. I ran my fingertips down to his wrist and pressed my fingers down at his pulse point. My fingertips moved from the little thumps of blood passing through his arm. When I looked up at him, he was still there. He was still real. He was really there in my kitchen ignoring his tea and food and looking down at me.

Before I could do anything else I jumped up from my chair and swept over to the other side of the table. I put my hand on his shoulder and I could feel his suit under my fingers. The other shoulder, the same. Before he could say whatever it was he was about to say I grabbed him hard and pulled him up into me. I crushed my arms around him in that hug. I could feel his warmth under me. I could hear him breathing next to my ear. I could feel him tentatively put his arms around me too. I squeezed harder and he didn't turn into dust and poof away. He stayed. He was there.

"The hand would have worked just as well. This is unnecessary." I could hear him talking next to my head. I could feel the vibrations in his chest shake me as he spoke.

"Shut up." I spoke in a hoarse voice and realized I was crying. I laughed. For the first time in a very long time I could actually feel.

I wasn't numb.

Then reality set in. Sherlock was here. Sherlock was not dead. Sherlock had made me watch him fake his death and let me live my life thinking he was dead. Then he just decides to come back to pick up where he left off? No. This was more than a bit not good.

I pulled back abruptly after that and he sank back into his chair. I noticed his face was a bit redder than when we were talking before. His eyes were glassy. But I couldn't think he had cried. I couldn't think he had showed any emotion. I couldn't think of comforting him right now.

"Now comes the part when you're angry." The way he said it: so calm, so knowing, unfazed. It just pissed me off.

"You're damn right I'm angry." My voice came out lower than I intended but I wasn't sad about it. It just made me sound more furious. I wiped away the tears from my face. I didn't need to be reminded of how happy I was. I wanted to be mad right now. "You want to bloody tell me why my best friend made me watch him commit suicide and then didn't tell me he was alive?! Why did you let me live like this?! Am I the only one who didn't know? Who else knows? Does Mycroft know? You know what don't answer that yet. I don't want to talk about him. Why did you do it? You had to of known what it would do to me. What were you thinking? Probably some analytical nonsense-"

"You're an army doctor. You've seen people die in much cruder ways than falling off a building and-"

"So what you thought because I've seen death that it wouldn't matter? Sherlock you didn't fall, you jumped! You killed yourself! And you're not a soldier. You're not a patient. You're a friend. A real ass of one but still." I really didn't see what was so hard to understand. He couldn't honestly think I would be unfazed by his suicide.

"I miscalculated. You were meant to find out sooner but there were complications."

"Complications? What, were you in a coma?! Could you not pick up a bloody phone?!"

"John you're yelling will not-"

"No! No, you don't get to tell me not to yell! I get to yell all I want, thank you very much. Now you are going to tell me why. You are going to tell me why my friend made me go through these past six months completely broken without once trying to contact me."

"It was for your safety." I had to bite my tongue not to say something sarcastic to that. I just waited for him to go on. "Yes Mycroft was the only one who knew. I couldn't contact you for your own safety. If Moriarty found out I was alive then your life would be in danger. He would have used you to find me. He needed to see you grieving the loss of your friend."

"You told Mycroft? After what he did. You still could have found a way to tell me. I may not be able to act as well as you but I would have-"

"I couldn't chance it. Moriarty found me and had me followed."

"And you got away?" You could still hear how furious I was but I was determined to hear him out.

"Made a deal. I would only work low key cases, stay out of the media, and I could come back here."

"Why would he let you make that deal?"

"No competition makes for a lousy sport."

"So Moriarty let you come back because he was bored."

"Yes I do believe I just said that."

"What happens if you end up back in the media?"

He took a moment longer than he should to answer me. He seemed to be studying me for what he should say. "We die."

"We. As in-"

"As in you and me. Sniper shot given Moriarty's pattern."

He seemed so calm when he said it. I wasn't all that calm though. I was still steaming mad and the fact that I could die any day didn't help. It brought a sense of familiarity and an odd sense of comfort but it didn't help my anger.

"Right then. No media."

"Your blog is alright as long as it's monitored." I was just about to ask him that. "I'll need a new IP address."

"To give to Moriarty. Right." The confusion started again. The room started to spin a bit.

"As far as why you had to witness my death, you were right. Of all people I had the options to call you were the best. Not only were you there outside of St. Bart's, which would be the obvious first reason, but also you were the best option. Molly and Mrs. Hudson would both have a heart attack if they witnessed a death. Lestrade , Donovan, even Anderson would all be options. Two of the three would hang up if I called. Lestrade wouldn't listen to me. He would have brought his entire squad and a negotiator by the time he reached me. Much too big a spectacle. My contacts are quite limited after that. As I told you before, Mycroft knew already. Calling him would not have been as believable anyway."

"You called me to be more believable." I went through all of that, all that time. All the pain, all the suffering, all the hurt just so Sherlock could be more believable.

I could have killed him myself.

"Well I couldn't' have it unbelievable now could I?" I think my glare made my opinion clear. "I had hoped you would have done what I said, pushed the story of me being a fraud more. He may have let me come back sooner." He didn't sound too happy about needing permission to be let back.

"You have such little faith in me."

I shook my head at him and at myself. How could I expect Sherlock of all people to regret this? I wished he would though.

"On the contrary. I have all the faith in the world in you."

Looking at him after he said that probably wasn't the right thing to do on my part. I saw something in him that I had been ignoring before. There was a part of him that actually cared in there. I think that was the closest I'd had to a real apology since he arrived. The rage I had been feeling slipped away. It left me with still feeling very confused, a little sad, relieved, and a bit disappointed.

"I don't know if I can forgive you for this one Sherlock." I wanted to. I wanted so badly just to let him back in and have him tell me what we were going to do now. I wanted him to tell me not to worry. I wanted to forgive him so badly.

"I didn't think you would. I had hoped the facts would sway your decision. In your own time."

I think I looked at him with a bit of a frown on my face. I was trying to figure him out. It was like he was trying to be careful of my feelings. I was happy about it, don't get me wrong, but it was still weird coming from him.

"Well this is one hell of a birthday present." I laughed as I leaned back and started to drink my tea. It had gotten a bit too cold as I forgot about it but it was still warm enough to tolerate.

"I'm afraid I am a day late in that. I did come as quick as I could."

"You remembered my birthday?"

"Why is that so strange?"

"Well it's not for normal people. I thought you might have deleted it as unimportant or something."

"I don't delete anything that is John Watson." My mouth actually fell open at that one.

I wanted to say so much more. I still had a lot of questions. I just felt so tired all of a sudden. And I just woke up. But I needed to know.

"Does Mycroft know you're back?"

"I assume he does. I don't much feel like talking to him though."

"No I don't either." I didn't have to hide my contempt at him anymore. "Well go on then." He looked at me confused. I smiled at that look. I didn't get to see it often. "Deduce me. I know you've been dying to do so. You probably already have."

A childish smile spread across his face. It was more bittersweet than normal though. "Why did Harry hurt my violin?"

"We were having a bit of a row."

"Obviously. I knew that." Of course he did. "But why was my violin involved?"

"The fight was about you."

"That still doesn't give her the right. Does she know how much that costs?" I chuckled a bit at him. Leave it to Sherlock to get bent out of shape over some scratches on his violin but not about making his friend watch him commit suicide.

"I doubt it. Don't worry, I'll get it fixed tomorrow."

"Take my card when you go. You can barely afford to live here, you can't afford to get it fixed. How do you live here still? Oh. I guess I should thank him for that. Or…" Sherlock got up from his chair and walked to one of the windows keeping his face out of view but flipping off the street with his hand. I guess I did have Mycroft to thank for the apartment. I waited for him to come back and finish his deductions but he only came back and sat again, still ignoring his food and drink.

"Go on." I knew he would know what I meant.

"I'm not sure I want to John."

Sherlock was hesitant to give a deduction? I thought that was good. It meant he could see what I went through. I meant he knew what I'd been like. That was good.

"I think I want you to." He studied me for a minute before continuing. I could see he didn't want to, he was fighting himself, but I could also see he wasn't about to fight me on it.

"Trauma. Greif." He stood up and started to pace through the kitchen, not looking at me anymore. "You couldn't stay here. You lived with your sister for a time. Your limp came back along with your nightmares as part of your PTSD. You probably thought you could repress whatever you were feeling. It became too much so you moved back in. Everyone was concerned about you but you didn't let them see how you were. You ignored people. Only talking to them when you must. You started sleeping in my bed five weeks ago. Every night. It made the nightmares stop. It made your limp stop. You kept on avoiding people only talking to them when necessary. Harry was the first person to stop by here since you moved back in. She pointed out how you hadn't moved on and you two started screaming. The fight escalated so far as to have my violin caught in the crossfire. Your fight ended with her either threatening not to come back or you just telling her not to. It was the first night you have drank in months. You didn't handle your grief well, and as a doctor you knew that, but you ignored it. You cut yourself out of the world. But why? You had the means to move on but you didn't. All at the loss of a friend." I think he was more talking to himself by the end of that rather than me. I still answered him.

"I didn't just lose a friend Sherlock." I didn't look at him as I spoke. A part of me felt like he might make fun of me for saying something so sentimental. "After the war...I was nothing. You saved me. With you gone, I didn't see a point."

"Then why did you keep living?"

To others it might have seen like a cruel question he only asked to gain knowledge but I could tell differently. He was worried. I didn't think he realized the damage he caused. He didn't understand. He didn't think of it. "Soldier's instinct I suppose."

There was something else I wanted to do. I wanted to apologize. It was one of the things I wanted to say if I ever saw him again. It kept rolling around in my head. All the things I wanted to say. Other things could wait. Most of all though, I wanted to apologize. He could tell.

"Just say it already. Your thoughts are giving me a migraine."

"I wanted to apologize for what I said. In the lab. You're not a machine. I didn't mean-"

"Please John, I know. You don't have to go on. I deserved it."

"You set it up." I had figured out he was the one who got me out of the lab already.

"I did. But still I could have been more aware as to how it would affect you."

"Yeah I guess." _That _was the closest to an apology I ever got. "So are you going to tell me how you figured all that out yet?"

Sherlock's smile was back and I couldn't help reciprocating. It felt so normal. So safe. If he hadn't been talking about how horrible I was while he was gone that is.

"Staying at your sister's was obvious. Your other family members live too far away and you aren't close enough to any of your friends to ask to stay with them. You sister visited you on your birthday which meant your relationship grew since the last time I saw you. It would make most sense if you stayed with her. Most people cannot stay in the flat of a dead friend.

"Your limp was also obvious. Your cane was left outside of my bedroom door with signs of significant use. The stairs leading up to the door have imprints and scratches caused by the cane. You can see you lean on the rail as well.

"Nightmares were a given along with the limp. I assumed the nightmares continued because you didn't seek out help therefore the lack of contact with people and the repression. As a solider and as a man growing up in the house you did, you had to repress. Your sister represses through the help of alcohol, you repress out of practice and an odd attraction to dangerous situations. You didn't see your therapist but the one time because no one pressured you to. Probably Harry did but then you had moved back in by that time.

"There are no signs that company other than Mrs. Hudson comes in here. This apartment only shows signs of having one occupant. Only one set of cookware is used. One set of cups, one set of silverware, I could go on.

"Sleeping in my bed. You did that as a coping technique. I'm sure the first time was an accident but then it became practice after you realized your limp disappeared. Five weeks because the calendar in your room is stuck on the wrong month while the one in mine has been changed. It is one of the only things you changed. You keep some of your clothes there, not to mix in or disturb my own but it again shows signs of living in the room. I know the limp disappeared along with the nightmares because not only you continued to sleep there and the all telling fact that you left the cane out of my room, but also because you have not limped once since I've been here. It seems my presence has a calming effect on you and the room worked enough to have the same effect.

"The fight with Harry was also easy. You had been avoiding people and there were no signs of any sort of birthday party but there was another cup that had been moved for use. I saw it stuck in the sink, one sniff and the alcohol was present. It wasn't yours because you don't drink coffee. I knew you hadn't been drinking before last night because there are no usual beer cans in the recycling or waiting in the fridge. If you hadn't even had those then you must not drink. The whiskey was in a hidden place, you'd have to dig it out to use it. The wrapper around the top is still on the counter showing it was only opened the night before. I could tell how long you would be drunk based on the amount missing, which is more than a casual drinking. You must have had a big fight with Harry. That and I could tell she smashed my violin based off placement and height differentiation. She was by the door when she smashed it, meaning she was leaving. She was angrier than normal because she wouldn't normally break another person's things. She wanted to make quite the exit, telling that she wasn't planning on returning anytime soon. You were quite broken up by it. It explains why you got so drunk you would think you were dreaming my existence.

"I should also mention you have not dated anyone. Though sleeping in my bed might have frightened them off. Especially when they'd have to compete with my purple shirt."

There was a hint of smile on his face as he finished his fast explanations. I was always amazed at how he could leap through them all from one to the other without needing a single breath.

"Right on all counts. You must think I'm insane." I would have. When it was all laid out in front of me like that, I didn't see how he couldn't think I was weird in my actions. But then he said exactly the right thing.

"If you can learn to accept me, I think I can forgive you for your quirkiness." He moved back into the living room and went over to his violin and case. He put it in the case and closed it up moving it over to the kitchen table. "Now I have gone through the boxes Mrs. Hudson packed up with my things. Where did she send my equipment?"

"Bored already?" I laughed. I wanted a quiet day in front of the TV after this. I didn't think I'd be able to handle much else.

"Just starting to get that way."

I started to get a bit worried when he said that. I hadn't thought of it before but he had been off on his own for six months. Not only would I have to be worried about the lack of sleep and nourishment but I also had to be worried about the drug use. Did he fall off the wagon out of boredom?

"We'll have to ask Mrs. Hudson when she gets in. I believe she said she would be out all day with friends."

"Ugh! Friends. Why does Mrs. Hudson need friends? I need something to do!"

"Want to watch a movie?"

"A movie?" He looked at me like I had suggested eating dirt. To him it was probably the same thing.

"Either we watch a movie with popcorn or you have to eat all your eggs. Pick one." He glared at me for a few moments before dramatically rolling his head back and sighing audibly.

"Very well. We'll watch a movie. Though I cannot see how that is any source of entertainment for you dull minded people." He stomped off into the living room and spread out over the couch. I laughed internally at him. Right after a very serious conversation and he's off jumping onto the couch like a little kid. I thought that maybe it could be easier to get past this than I originally thought.

"I missed you Sherlock." I muttered it to myself in his direction.

"I missed you too John." I could barely hear him but I did. It was enough. I smiled wide and moved to make the popcorn. I noticed how I didn't limp when moving around the kitchen. I felt so much less stuck.

I could move again.

* * *

**AN: **By the way, this is rated T for swearing and mentions/thoughts of suicide.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was infuriating to watch a movie with. I didn't mind though. I just made him pop popcorn into his mouth between yelling at the screen about how wrong everything was. He pointed out every messed up camera angle, every misspoken word, every discrepancy. It was fantastic. I probably shouldn't have picked _Ghostbusters_ as the movie to watch.

I was glad he ate. I found myself staring at him talking about the movie more than actually watching it. I was afraid he would disappear much like I was with his room. He was always there though. I think he caught me staring at him more than once but he didn't say anything. He just continued his corrections.

I found myself popping in _Ghostbusters II _before he could object. I didn't want to think about doing anything else. I didn't want to leave his side and I didn't want him to leave mine. I wasn't ready to talk yet. Not after the conversation from that morning.

He complained about being subjected to more torment but he didn't get up to leave or take the movie out. He stayed next to me on the couch.

Sometimes I would wait till he reached into the popcorn to take another bite and I would reach in at the same time to make our hands brush. It wasn't enough that he was there. The touch reminded me that this was real and I was really awake.

After the movie I made to get us some proper dinner. I wanted him to keep eating. He just complained that he had already eaten for the day. I wasn't hearing of it. I ordered Chinese food and set up some water for fresh tea.

Sherlock stayed on the couch. I wasn't sure what he was doing. Probably thinking. I didn't ask. I didn't need to.

I finished off our tea and brought a cup over to him which he took. I took that as a good sign. I sat in my chair staring at him sipping from his cup. He looked at me quizzically and I let him.

"You're not going on your computer." I didn't know what he was getting at.

"No I'm not."

"This is the point where you would do that. Normally you would start to poke around online and on your blog."

"Well it's not every day your friend comes back from the dead."

"I knew you would avoid your blog at first but it's been a long time. Surely people have let it go." I think my silence answered his question. The truth was most people had stopped but the comments were still there. They weren't deleted. "Show me."

"I don't think-" His sigh cut me off from my argument and he got up and grabbed my laptop flipping it open and staring at the login screen. "You won't- you just figured out my password didn't you?" The screen flashed as he guessed, or deduced or whatever, my password and brought up my blog. I didn't want to see it. I watched him sit in his chair and I watched his eyes flicker over the screen reading down faster than I ever could have. I watched him for a few minutes before he spoke again. "Moriarty's comments continued after my death?"

I wasn't sure if he was asking me or his brain but I answered. "I assumed they were him. I didn't answer."

"No. How could you answer an anonymous person? Especially after you stopped reading."

"How did you-"

"The history on your computer. You haven't been on the blog in ages." His eyes still raked over the screen. "I don't blame you. People can be so cruel."

"If the blog starts up again, won't people know you're back? Won't the media get wind of it?"

"We're not about to use this blog John. Really, I expected you to at least know that. New blog, new names, new alibi."

"Why are we even doing a blog then?" Not that I wasn't happy about having something to do. When you're with Sherlock you find yourself feeling a bit inadequate at times. At least I felt like I was doing something when I was writing my blog. Made me feel like more than just a skull he needed to talk to.

He looked up at me and scoffed while rolling his eyes. Apparently the answer was obvious and I was just supposed to know. I let it go. If he wanted to tell me then he would tell me.

He shut my computer and set it down in his chair standing abruptly. His fast movements caught me off guard and I found my adrenaline starting to pump. It wasn't something I had felt recently. It felt good.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Mrs. Hudson is home. You mustn't tell her I'm back. You thought I was a dream and settled into reality slowly. If she sees me alive too soon it could quite literally kill her." With that he stole my laptop and ran off to his bedroom. Mrs. Hudson could be heard making her way up the stairs to check up on me.

"Come in Mrs. Hudson!" I called to her before she could knock on the door. She walked in with a smile on her face.

"Hello John! You seem to be doing good today."

"I'm feeling good. How was your trip?"

"It was lovely." I swear I could feel Sherlock rolling his eyes from his room. He took my laptop but that by no means meant that he wanted to be cooped up in there. "Um John?"

"Yes?"

"Is there a reason you have two teas out?" Oh crap.

"Yeah…I rather had a hankering for it actually. Just made two cups so I wouldn't have to get up." I could definitely feel Sherlock then. That was a lame excuse and even I knew it. I just hoped she'd buy it.

"Oh I understand." She gave me coy smile and backed towards the door. "Don't say another word. I'll let you be." She winked at me before shutting the door and shuffling down the stairs. At first I didn't know what to make out of it.

"Well that took long enough." Sherlock came up from behind me and sat back down in his chair. Thankfully he remembered to grab my laptop before leaving his room.

"What do you think she meant by-"

"She thinks you have a date." He was still on my computer, not looking at me.

"Really? Hmm."

"Oh don't sound so proud of yourself." Sherlock picked up my tea because it was closer and started to drink it.

Dinner came soon and I made him eat at least half of his usual while I ate mine. My hangover was gone by the time I finished and I was ready to go out and do something.

"We can't go out." Sherlock said when I asked him about it.

"How long? I mean I understand but-"

"I don't know. I can't be recognized. Though most only recognize me with that ridiculous hat on."

"And your coat."

"Yes well, as long as they don't recognize me, there shouldn't be a problem. But I'm not about to change everything about myself."

"You could dye your hair. Get it cut. That would make a difference. That and if you actually gained some weight."

"It is getting to that annoying length where it bobs in front of my eyes." He looked up at his forehead when he said it and I chuckled at him. He just glared at me in response. "As far as the weight goes, I don't want to be slowed down."

"You won't be slowed down if you put on some muscle. If anything it'll just help you." I knew he wanted to say something sarcastic for me using my doctor tone. He didn't though. He just pushed my laptop off of him and walked over to the window staring out.

"My music."

"What?" As if I was supposed to know what he meant.

"Where is it?"

"In your room."

"Go get it."

I rolled my eyes but I got up and fetched it for him anyway. When I came out of his room he was still there. He had grabbed his violin off the table and was plucking away at it, tuning it. I handed him a pile that I found, his stand was still where it had always been. He took it, looked at it, and shoved it aside.

"Well why did I get it if you didn't want it?" He didn't answer me. He just got up, dramatically at that, and rounded the bow onto the strings. Without warning he dove into his songs, apparently memorized, and walked about the flat. I sat down and started in on the book I had been reading.

I allowed myself to close my eyes for a moment and just enjoy myself. Sherlock was walking around playing his music, I was reading my book and drinking tea, and everything was right in the world. Sherlock was alive and I wasn't numb.

Everything was wonderful until I started to nod off in my chair. This day had been hard on me. A hangover mixed in with your dead best friend coming back to life mixed in with a lazy movie day tended to take a toll.

It shouldn't have been a big deal. I should have just gone up to my bedroom and fallen asleep. Instead I went to take a shower. I needed to think and as much as I loved being around Sherlock and as much as I didn't want to leave him for a second, I really needed to talk to myself.

I had been sleeping in Sherlock's bed for five weeks. Every night I would curl up under his covers and feel safe. Any night I tried to sleep somewhere else or accidentally fell asleep in my chair or on the couch I would wake up with the night terrors. I had work the next morning and I couldn't afford to be tired when dealing with patients. I didn't want to take over Sherlock's space though. It was his after all.

It really shouldn't have been a hard thing to do. I was afraid though. I was afraid that I would go to my room, shut the door, and wake up to finding this entire day was a dream, this entire thing didn't happen, I was still drunk of my ass on the couch or something.

I thought that maybe if I took something of his to my bedroom then it would be a reminder that it actually happened. I didn't know how Sherlock would feel though. Sure he said he'd take me for all my quirks but taking his shirt up to my room might be crossing a line.

I still hadn't made up my mind by the time the shower ended and I was ready for bed. Sherlock was on the couch when I came out, staring at the ceiling. No doubt trying to find out where I put my gun so he could find something to do. I had no idea how he was going to live without being able to leave the house.

"I'm going to bed. I guess I'll see you in the morning." I walked towards the stairs but stopped in the doorway. I had to turn back to make sure he was still there. It was habit for him not to answer me but it still got me worried when I didn't hear him.

"Just go." He flicked his hand out from under his chin at me.

"Excuse me?"

"Sleep in my bed. I don't care. I won't sleep tonight anyway." I stared at him with my mouth open for a bit. Of course he knew what I was thinking. When did he not? But wasn't it weird? Mates didn't sleep in other mate's beds. Not that I hadn't already been. He did have a point though. He probably wouldn't sleep. And even if he did, it would probably just be on the couch.

"Are you sure? I can-"

"Don't make me repeat myself. I don't want to hear you having nightmares. It distracts my thinking." Either he was showing signs of sentiment or that was true. Probably both. Either way I got to sleep through the night.

"Thanks. G'night Sherlock."

"Goodnight John."

I moved to his room and shut the door most of the way leaving it a crack open either out of habit or so I'd be able to hear him if he needed me. I wasn't really sure.

I turned on the alarm and rolled under the covers feeling the familiar sink of the memory foam. I would never get over how comfortable it was. I thought about making Sherlock sleep in my room. I wouldn't mind taking this one over. It would be odd if our clothes stayed in the rooms they were in now though. It made me laugh. And with that I fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning my alarm woke me up and jolted me away. I hit the snooze and turned over to catch a few more minutes but then I remembered who was in the next room. I sat up and turned the alarm off rubbing my hands over my face to wake myself up.

"Interesting." I heard Sherlock's voice come from the other side of the room. It scared the shit out of me.

"Jesus. What the hell Sherlock? You're going to give me a heart attack. What were you doing?"

"I wanted to see how your sleeping pattern adjusted when sleeping in my bed."

"So you watched me sleep in my bed before? You know what, don't answer that. Breakfast?" Sherlock gave me a pout but I pushed up out of the bed and headed to the kitchen anyway. I threw some bread in the toaster and put on a pot of tea for us both.

A part of me still couldn't believe this was actually happening. He was really here. It brought an extraordinary amount of relief. Another part of me was still really mad. I understood why he did it. I really did, but I still needed time to think about it. Yesterday I just pushed down the thoughts because he was there and I didn't want him to go anywhere. I didn't want to scare him off because I was mad and it was a nice day anyway. I found it easy to not worry about how mad I was when I was listening to his music or watching a movie with him. Now that I was up though, just the two of us, the thoughts started to crash down. Mostly I was worried about trusting him again. How could I trust him not to do something this stupid again?

"John." I heard Sherlock but I didn't really want to at that moment. "John the toast has done nothing wrong." I looked down to see the butter I had been spreading had long gone as I smooshed the toast under the knife. It was more like a massacred pile of crumbs now.

"Oh." I took a bite out of the crumbly thing. It was okay. I was slightly embarrassed. Sherlock must have known what I was thinking about. Why I even questioned if he did was stupid in itself.

"We can talk when you get home." Did Sherlock really just say that? I looked over at him and I could see the concern on his face. It must have been one of those rare moments where he actually showed his emotion. I swear I was the only one he would do that with. It made me melt every time.

"Yeah. Yeah we will. Well I got to get going." I didn't really but I didn't think I could stay there. I ddidn't know how I was so okay the day before. I think it must have been the shock. Now I could feel everything and I didn't want to deal with it right then. I just wanted to get to work, pass the day by, and get home to Sherlock again.

* * *

Work went by a little better than normal. I was a little less angry at everyone for being alive and therefore a little less cold myself.

Sarah noticed. She seemed very happy about it. She even said she would bring me out to lunch. I couldn't find a way to say no so I went.

It was a bit awkward. We both knew it wasn't a date but having dated before the atmosphere was still there. We made small talk and she avoided bringing up how I was doing for the longest time. But of course she had to ask.

"So you seem to be in a chipper mood today."

"Couldn't find a reason not to be." It wasn't untrue. Well I was anxious, she didn't mention that. I really just wanted the day to pass by so I could get home. But that didn't mean I wasn't happier. Sherlock was alive after all.

"Well I'm glad. I've missed you like this."

"Thanks."

I did too.

Not soon enough my shift ended and I made it home as quick as I could.

I figured I should probably pick up some food to bring home now that I was feeding two mouths. It was weird to go get food. All day I had been urging to get home and now that I could I was stalling. I knew it was because I knew I would have to talk to Sherlock about feelings. That was never something I would look forward to. It was like talking to a fish about air.

On the way home I felt my hand start to shake. It only did that if the PTSD was kicking in or I was getting really mad. I was trying to control my anger as best I could but the entire day I was thinking it always led back to that. I would always find a way to forgive him and then I would get angry at myself for letting it be that easy. It had been a roller coaster of a day.

Well I made my way up the stairs with groceries in hand and found him there with his violin. It seemed since he didn't have any cases to work on or anything for an experiment (other than me sleeping) this was his backup.

"Aren't you worried Mrs. Hudson will hear you?" I called out as I set my cane aside and loaded the things into the fridge. No body parts. Yet.

"You can tell her its some records or some nonsense. She wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"What have you been doing all day?"

"Nothing exciting." He walked over to where I was, putting down the violin and standing in the doorway. "Why, do you notice anything?"

"What do you mean?" He wouldn't ask unless he did something. He looked at me with a slight smile but he really shouldn't have. There was something about Sherlock that just bugged me in that moment. It was just something else he wouldn't tell me. Wouldn't let me in on. I was so happy he was okay but I really wanted to deck him.

"Nothing. Now tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong."

"Really John why do you lie to me?" There was no point.

"Why do you lie to me?!" I didn't mean to yell that. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just-"

"You feel betrayed." It wasn't a question. I think it would have only made me madder if it was.

"Well yeah." Everything I thought about at work came flooding forward. "Your entire death was a lie Sherlock. How can I believe anything you do? Anything you say? How can I believe anything that has to do with you is not a lie? If you die again, I'm going to think it's all fake. You'll just come back around the corner six months later. Did you realize what this would do to me?" I was keeping my temper under control really well. I wasn't so much angry the more I spoke as much as sad. We had something before that was lost now. "I know. I understand you couldn't tell me. I get it. But why didn't Mycroft? I mean I really don't trust him already but this adds to it and it doesn't look good for you. Did you tell him not to tell me? How do I know? I've never felt more out of the loop on anything. I don't know what to believe at the moment. I don't know how to trust you. How can you be my friend if I don't trust you?"

Sherlock stared at me for a long moment before responding. I actually thought he wasn't going to say anything. Then a miracle happened.

"I'm sorry John. My miscalculations hurt you more than I could have ever understood. I never wanted to hurt you. Mycroft didn't tell you of his own volition and he's a bastard for doing so. I wish I could take it all back. But know this, you will know John. I will never leave you out of the loop again. If you ask me I will tell you. As tedious as it is, I will tell you everything. I don't know how you can trust me again but I hope you can try. I don't want to lose you."

I think I blinked more times in that second then I had all year. I'd never heard him speak like that. I'd never expected him too. Part of me was worried he was acting. He was good, he could fake even me. But I knew that was only because my trust in him was broken. This was too real. We were alone. There wasn't a point to him lying like this. Well there was: to be friends again. I knew that wasn't what he was doing though. No, he was telling the truth. The least I could to was tell the same.

"I don't want to lose you either. Thank you." I wanted to go over and hug him if I was being honest. But I knew he wouldn't like that. I don't think he'd know what to do with it.

Sherlock moved back to the living room, without talking about what I was thinking. I was glad for it. I put away the rest of the groceries except the ones I was going to make dinner with. Chicken and veggies were on the menu. My mother's recipe. I was excited. It was celebratory.

Sherlock continued to play his violin and I continued to cook while humming along. It was very catchy.

When I finished cooking I put out two plates and brought one over to the genius sitting in his chair staring at nothing. He looked at it with a frown but took it. I smiled and sat down in my own chair and started eating away.

When I was halfway done I had to ask, "What did you mean earlier when you asked if I noticed anything different? What did you do?"

"It was an experiment."

"Yes but what was it?"

"I moved everything in the apartment two centimeters to the south. Apparently it wasn't enough to make a difference. I was going to keep testing it until you noticed."

"So why did you tell me about it?" It would ruin the experiment.

"Because you asked."

Well that wasn't like him. Unless…"Did you answer just because I asked?"

"That was what I said I would do."

He pouted and I smiled. This could be interesting. Having a completely honest Sherlock Holmes around. Well completely honest whenever I asked a direct question. Maybe my life would be easier.

I doubted it.

* * *

The next few days went about the same. I would go off to work and come home to Sherlock doing some weird experiment that mostly involved things in the apartment or solving cases from the newspaper. That or he would be on my computer or composing some song. He would be composing without the violin though. It was sent off and still being fixed, on my card. He somehow memorized the violin so perfectly he could play it without it even being there.

I had also managed to get him to cut his hair. He looked much better after that and a couple of hot showers. He looked just like his old self. It looked like nothing had changed. Well, other than being a bit skinner but I was getting him to eat.

I knew he was itching for a case but I wasn't about to bring it up. I knew how much he hated to ask permission to do anything. Especially Moriarty. It had to be killing him.

We would stay inside and I could get him to eat a bit. He was already starting to look better than when he first arrived. I suggested we go out at some point in the wee hours of the morning just to get him out of the house. He argued like a child but agreed to going as long as I would go with him. That meant it would have to wait until the weekend because I was scheduled for work until then.

I tried to get him to play a game with me to take his mind off of the boredom. I could tell he was itching for a cigarette. I was glad he wasn't smoking. I took that as a sign he didn't go back to the drugs either. Well as much as he pouted about it I did get him to play a game of rummy. That was my mistake. While I tried to play with the cards he spent the time playing with my mind. I felt like he could see through the back of my cards and knew exactly what was in my hand at all times. Seven rounds in and he had won every game.

That was the same night Mrs. Hudson decided to check on me. Sherlock jumped when we heard her and he ran off into his room. She popped in with some kind of snack on a tray and a smile on her face. She was very happy that I had been doing better this week.

"Hello John, I have cake!"

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." She set it down on the table and went over to my fridge getting the milk out. She was poking her head around the flat as if she was looking for something.

"Who were you talking to dear?"

Oh no.

"What?"

"When I was walking up the stairs I heard you talking to someone. I'm not interrupting am I?"

"Oh no. I was just…on the phone. Talking to a friend."

"Ah of course dear. Well here you are." She had sliced me off a bit and put it on the kitchen table with milk on the side. She was such a mom. "I'm off to make myself dinner. Let me know if you need anything."

"I will. Thanks again." She waved and popped down the stairs back to her own flat. Sherlock stepped out as soon as she was gone.

"You really are the worst liar." He grumbled from behind me.

"Oh shut up. Do you want some?" I sat down in front of the cake and started to eat the slice. It was devil's food with chocolate icing. So good.

"Do you know what's in that?" I'm sure he knew every ingredient off memory. "There is a reason Mycroft is so fat. Cake is his favorite." I laughed around the bite in my mouth and looked up at Sherlock. He had started to laugh too which only made me laugh more. It was the first time he had laughed all week.

* * *

After that first night I didn't sleep in Sherlock's room again. I knew I should let him have it and I knew he was really there. He would always be there when I woke up. He wouldn't disappear overnight. I had some nightmares but a quick trip downstairs and I would see him there and I could go back to sleep.

After the first night I didn't even have to go downstairs. The violin was fixed and I could hear the music creeping up into my room. I would listen to it until I fell back asleep. It was like my own personal lullaby.

It didn't keep him from my room though. Apparently he wanted to continue his sleep study on me. I didn't mind that much. When he was in the room I didn't have a nightmare and it kept him busy anyway. More than once I woke up to him sitting on my bed and taking my pulse.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Was my reaction the first night it happened.

"Taking your pulse."

"I know that but why?" I pulled up the covers so less of me was showing. I was only in my underwear after all. They were my red pair too. They were much to snug for me to be comfortable wearing them in front of him.

"I told you I was studying your sleeping patters. Heart rate is a valid component of that study." He was giving me that look again. The look that said I should know this already and I was asking stupid questions.

"Fine whatever. Just don't wake me up again."

"Actually I didn't. According to your heart rate you-"

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhh" I fell asleep with him still sitting on my bed.

* * *

The weekend came soon enough. I was glad. Sherlock really was starting to annoy the hell out of me. I woke up to him that Saturday making some sort of pyramid of food. We really needed to get him his equipment back. Or at least buy him new equipment. I thought I should probably check my credit card statement. I half expected him to buy some new equipment on my card when I wasn't paying attention. He wouldn't use his own for fear of someone recognizing his name. I was even half hoping for it. Anything to keep him occupied. He was like a small kitten just running everywhere.

Lestrade had called me asking to go out to the pub. I said I couldn't that night and offered the next. While I was on the phone Sherlock was making it clear that he didn't want to see him yet. I didn't know why. Lestrade would find out he was back eventually and if Sherlock wanted cases he would have to talk to him. I didn't question though. Lestrade agreed to pick me up the next day and I left it at that.

That night Sherlock and I went out into the city. We waited until it was past midnight and I made Sherlock wear one of my larger jackets instead of his signature one. He was not happy about it but he put it on. It looked kind of funny on him. Not only was it a bit short but it just didn't look like him at all. It especially didn't look right over his proper black suit.

"John I look ridiculous." He was pouting in front of the bathroom mirror.

"Good now let's go." I had practically dragged him out of the apartment but he came. We walked around for a bit in the direction of a park. It wouldn't exactly be the safest place to go at this hour and that's part of why we wanted to go there. Some good old danger was just what Sherlock needed.

Every person we passed Sherlock would deduce. Granted there weren't that many out walking in the cold dead of night but the ones who were usually had more colorful backgrounds. He would wait until they were out of hearing range and whisper their dirtiest secrets in my ear. I would giggle or gasp and we would keep on walking. I hadn't felt this right in a long time. This entire week had felt right.

On the walk back things took a turn for the worse. I felt Sherlock stop and saw exactly what made him. A guy had a girl pinned up against the wall and he was screaming in her face. She was crying and it sounded like she was asking him not to hurt her. He was slapping the wall behind her face. This was not good.

The adrenaline pumped in me and I ran over to the alley we saw them in. I grabbed the guy from behind and pushed him away from her. He stumbled back and I stood in front of the girl who I could feel grabbing onto my back. She was still crying, saying something like thank you, while I stared the guy down. He yelled the ever so cliché, "This isn't over" at her before jogging off.

"Are you alright?" I turned to face her checking her over like the doctor I was. She was crying but she nodded her head. "Would you like to tell me what happened?"

"He's my ex. He-he saw me at the bar with an-another guy and he-he"

"It's okay. I understand. Sherlock would you-" I turned around by couldn't see him anywhere. I looked down both directions of the street but I couldn't see any sign of him. "Sherlock?" Oh great now I was worried. He probably went after the other guy. And I had no way of contacting him because he didn't have a phone. It would have to wait until I went back to the flat or I would have to look for him. I couldn't do that though because I had to take care of this girl. "What's your name?"

"Casey."

"Alright Casey, I'm John. I have a friend down at the Yard. I'm going to call him and he'll take care of you okay?" She nodded and I whipped out my phone to call Lestrade .

"Hello?" A groggy voice answered the line. I clearly woke him when he was sleeping.

"Hi Greg."

"John? Are you okay? Is everything alright?" Great. Now he was worried.

"Everything is fine. I have a girl here who's been harassed by her ex-boyfriend. He was just attacking her on the street. She's fine, a little shaken."

"What were you doing out on the street at this hour?"

"Long story. Can you send a car to keep an eye on her? Her ex threatened her."

"Sure I'll send someone over. Where are you?"

"Send it to Apostrophe, the coffee shop on my street."

"Alright. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Thanks Greg." I hung up on him before he could think to ask anything else. "Ready to go?" I asked Casey and she nodded. We walked to the coffee shop and made some small talk. I made sure she would stay at her relatives and to tell the cop everything she could. She was picked up and I waved at the officer before making my way back to the apartment.

I tried to be quiet when going into the apartment but I probably slammed the door walking in and I probably stomped up the stairs a bit. Sherlock better have had a good reason for leaving me without saying anything. When I walked in I found him playing his violin. I didn't hear it coming up the stairs. Now that I did, it was annoying.

"Sherlock." He ignored me and kept playing. "Sherlock!" He was such a child. "SHERLOCK!" He turned to me put kept played. Granted it was quieter. "Why did you run off?"

"I already told you."

"No I'm fairly sure you ran off without telling me anything."

He rolled his eyes and signed dramatically ripping his bow off the violin and making the strings screech. "Really. No one can know I'm back."

"So you'd leave a girl to get beat by her ex just so no one will know you're back?"

"That close of contact and someone could have recognized me."

"What if I wasn't able stop him myself? What if he killed her?"

"Regrettable. But it was your life or hers. I chose yours."

"I can't deal with this right now. I'm going to bed." I left for my room and slammed the door behind me. I knew what he meant. I knew why he did it.

It didn't mean that it wasn't selfish. I'd rather he helped people than do this.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning I made breakfast for us both but didn't harass Sherlock to come out of his room and eat. I was still mad about the night before.

I filled my day, leaving to buy groceries for the week, until Lestrade was meant to come by. I thought about reminding Sherlock because he probably deleted it but he was still in his room with the door shut so I let it go.

Lestrade came by and we headed out to the pub. He told me he talked to Mrs. Hudson about how cheerful I had been. I tried to play it off but he kept poking around to see what was the cause. His first guess was a girl. It was his theory that was why I was out so late walking round. He figured I had walked the girl home after a date.

"No I just needed some air was all."

"Some air?"

He didn't look like he believed me. I took a gulp of my beer. I wasn't drinking much. I didn't want to after the hangover I had the last time. Not to mention I was a little suspicious as to what would happen if I got drunk again. The last time I got drunk my friend came back from the dead, who knew what would happen this time?

"I'm allowed."

"I suppose. Well I'm glad you're doing better. I gotta say I was worried about you for a moment there."

More like for months but I wasn't about to bring it up.

"Yeah me too."

I quickly changed the topic to the latest rugby match I was able to catch and Greg took it from there filling me in on what I had missed. It was a nice time that passed fast and soon I was starting to get tipsy and Greg was completely drunk.

"Come on. You can sober up at my place." I was laughing at him trying to hail a taxi. There was no point when he was this drunk.

I thought about calling Sherlock to let him know we were coming but decided not to. I was pretty sure he didn't know how to work the apartment phone.

Lestrade would find out sooner or later. He might as well be drunk like I was the first time I saw him.

We made our way up the steps and I dumped him on the couch. Sherlock was nowhere to be found, though his bedroom door was still shut. I figured he was probably in there. That or the bathroom because that door was shut too and I was sure I left it open.

"Water?" I started to pour a glass for each of us, taking Greg's humph as a yes. I gave him his glass and made sure he drank it while I turned on some Top Gear. Near the end of the one of the episodes that was on I saw Greg had fallen asleep at some point, water in his hands. I pulled the glass out and put it next to him on the coffee table before getting up myself. I figured I should find out where Sherlock was now so he could prepare whatever speech he had ready.

I tapped on his bedroom door but heard no response. I opened the door and peeked in quick but one glance and I could see no one was in there. I was about to turn to check my own bedroom when I saw a shadow coming from the bathroom. It looked like someone was pacing in there. Greg was still on the couch so I moved over and tapped on that door.

"Sherlock?" I tried the knob and it was unlocked so I pushed it open slowly, giving him plenty of time to tell me not to come in. He was there pacing around the small space of the bathroom with his hands poised under his chin. "Lestrade is here." I was pretty sure he already knew that. "He's sleeping though so you'll have to wait till he sobers up."

"Get rid of him."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Why can't he see you? Mrs. Hudson I get, but this is Greg. He won't have a heart attack, he won't tell the media. You'll have to see him eventually if you want cases."

"He can't see me yet."

"Give me one good reason Sherlock. You're being ridiculous, come on."

"Because-" A knock was heard at the door and we both turned to face it.

"John? Who are you talking to? Is everything alright?" I started to walk towards the door. There was no way Sherlock was getting out of this.

"No John. Don't." Sherlock's voice was full of panic. It only confused me.

"Why not?" I had my hand on the doorknob ready to turn.

"John?" Lestrade called out again.

"No John! Please!" Sherlock yelled out but I had already unlocked the door and Lestrade was there standing in the doorway. He was looking at me confused as his eyes darted around the bathroom.

I braced myself. Seeing Sherlock probably was going to shock the man to sobriety.

"Who were you talking to?" Concern laced his words. I was just confused. I turned around and saw Sherlock staring at me with his eyes wide, panic ridden in his features.

"What do you mean?" I stuttered out. I looked back to Sherlock who was starting to back towards the shower. I looked to Greg who was staring at me completely confused. "You don't see…" I trailed off looking back at Sherlock. He was there. I saw him. Why was Greg not doing anything?

"See what John?" He put his hand on me and stared me straight in the eyes.

He didn't see.

How could he not see?

"Nothing."

I wanted to ask. I wanted to scream. _Sherlock! He's right there!_ But I didn't. I was confused. I was scared. What was going on?

"John are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine." That damn phrase would haunt me everywhere. "Just had a bit more than I realized." I smiled but he didn't look convinced. "You want to stay here tonight?" I had hoped the answer was no.

"No. No I need to get back. I have work in the morning and I'll need my stuff from my flat. Are you sure you're alright?" He seemed considerably more sober than when he was trying to hail a taxi. I couldn't tell if it was from the water and long nap or if I scared him straight. Either way I was happy to get him out.

"Totally fine. I'll call you." I smiled at him and walked him to the door. He nodded and headed down.

I turned back to the living room and saw Sherlock there standing in the middle of the room. He must have come out when he heard Lestrade leave. Something about seeing him now sent a chill down my spine. I let my panic ridden thoughts raise now that Lestrade wasn't there to worry.

"Why couldn't he see you?" I tried to stay calm but my voice betrayed my worry. I was very shaken.

He just stared at me and didn't say anything.

"Sherlock you said you would answer any question I asked. Answer this one. With the truth." I noticed my hand had started to tremor. I clenched it into a fist and brought it down to my side. "Why couldn't he see you?"

Sherlock stared at me a few more moments before answering. "Because John…I'm not really here." Regret laced every word and he could barely look at me.

"You're not here?" That didn't make sense. He was standing right in front of me. He had been here all week. What did he mean? "Then where are you?"

"I'm dead John."

Silence gripped the air. My mouth fell open and my eyes started to sting. My breathing turned to panting. I never expected to hear those words come out of that mouth.

"What is going on?"

I had no idea. The room started to spin and I walked forward towards the couch. Well actually I more limped forward until I fell onto it.

"I'm not really here."

This wasn't happening.

"No you were dead. Then you came back. It was all a lie." He had to tell me he was lying. Sherlock wasn't dead.

"John-"

"You are not dead. You faked your death. It was all a lie. You are here right now alive."

"No I'm not." He would have sounded comforting if he was capable of such a thing.

"So what are you then? A ghost? Is that what you are?" I was hysterically laughing at myself. Casper the Sherlock ghost had been following me around and tormenting me for over a week.

"No. I'm in your head."

"In my head? So I'm crazy. Is that it? I've gone nutters?"

"Hallucinations John. Seeing things that aren't there. In this case caused by psychotic depression. You're a doctor you know this."

"No. It doesn't make any sense. It doesn't. Those hallucinations don't materialize like this. They are hints of something they are not fully functioning beings. They are sounds or smells or visions. Not like this. You are here. You've been here."

"Think about it." He knelt down in front of me making me look at him as I held my head in my hands trying to stop the dizziness. "When you don't look at me, I'm playing. I'm not always there but you can hear me. You're not focused on me at all times."

"But I-I made you tea. You drank. You ate. We talked."

"All in your head John."

"But I can touch you! Right now-" I grabbed his hand off the ground and put it in my own. It didn't dissolve through into nothingness. "I can feel you. Your hand is in mine. You can't tell me that's not real."

"It's real to you. Even your brain is capable of amazing things. There are things about it you don't understand. It is capable of creating these experiences."

"But-"

"Think." He put his hand over mine and I felt it.

I felt it.

It only made my eyes burn more. "I avoided all people. I never left. I was only around when you were in the room. I never entered a room you were not in. We only went out at night and no one noticed me. I wasn't there to help that girl because I wasn't there. Lestrade couldn't' see me because I wasn't there to be seen."

"No, you couldn't go out because no one could know you were back."

"Your mind made that up."

"No. You're here. Look-" I got up, still shaking, and made my way over to the kitchen. I was still breathing hard but I made it. I opened up the cupboard where our cups were and pulled both mine and his out. "See. It's been used."

I could see the pity start to form in his features. "It's been filled and dumped all week by you. Your mind made you think it was being drunk."

"Your bed. You've been sleeping in it." He just shook his head. "But I-" I limped over to his room and pushed the door open. I actually looked this time. Nothing had been moved. Everything was just how I had left it last. The purple shirt was still on the bed. A bed that looked like it hadn't been touched in days.

It hadn't been touched in days.

"But…" I turned to find him behind me staring over my shoulder.

"Your brain is a powerful thing. You repressed your grief so much that it created this reality. You already suffered enough from the war. It couldn't take much more. It made me to make you feel safe."

"No." I continued to shake my head at him. "I'm not that crazy. It's been months."

"Months of repression. Normally people face their feelings much sooner. The alcohol and your fight with Harry brought it out of you."

"No." I leaned against the wall and slid down until I was on the floor. I put my head in my hands and tried to rub my eyes clear. Tears had started to spring up and were falling down my cheeks. "No. You're here. You're him. You can't be dead."

"I know you believed he was alive for a long time. You believed in him. That's part of why you didn't face what haunted you. For all intents and purposes I am him. But I'm not alive."

"No, no, no, no, no." I looked up and found he was right in front of me. I gripped his shirt and pulled him in towards me. I leaned my head on his shoulder and I felt his hands wrap around me. "This can't be happening." I was breathing harder and the tears started to fall faster. "You're the first thing to make me feel in months. How can you not be real? I was just starting to live again. I can feel." I couldn't help myself. Manly pride aside I started to sob into the shoulder of the man in front of me. He was being so caring. So sweet. So supportive. So unlike him.

How could he be real?

As soon as I thought it I felt the body in front of me disappear. I was left alone in the hallway. I looked around and there was no sign of the other man. I sobbed out again. "Sherlock?" His name was caught in my throat and I called out as best as I could. "Sherlock?"

Nothing. No response.

I sobbed harder and tried to push myself off the floor. I couldn't do it. My leg was hurting and I couldn't see straight.

I pushed back into his room and pushed myself on the floor until I reached his bed. I pushed off the floor and rolled in under the covers.

The bed felt cold.

He wasn't there.

I cried and cried and held onto the sheets in front of me. Reaching out I felt the silk of the purple shirt touch my fingers and I gripped it tighter bringing it to my chest. Tidal waves of pain rippled through me as I went through the week I had. Images were skewed. I could see him there one moment and the next he would be gone. My mind would replace my memories with the truth and each truth would cut me a little deeper.

Pain. Greif. Tears. And then finally sleep.

I thanked god that it was a dreamless sleep.

* * *

I woke up to a loud sound blaring in my ear.

It was my alarm. I must have had work. I didn't want to do that. I couldn't do that. What if he showed up there? What if work wasn't real?

I pulled out my phone from my pants pocket and called in sick. I smiled for a moment. It was always ironic for me when a doctor called in sick to work. The smile soon disappeared though and I was left staring at the ceiling in his room. I clung to his shirt tighter and tried to go back to sleep.

I managed to grab a few more hours before waking up on my own. My eyes were swollen and they hurt from the overuse. I felt groggy and didn't want to get up but I knew I had to. I had to see what had happened and what didn't. I needed to know what was real.

I pushed out of the bed and walked towards the door. Just like every time before I started to imagine his existence, the limp returned as soon as I crossed the threshold. I cursed myself for leaving my cane upstairs and limped my way to the kitchen using the wall for support.

In the kitchen I found the cups we had been using sitting out. Everything else was where I had left it throughout the week. So I guessed I had been using both but drinking from one. I put them both back and carefully shut the door to the cupboard.

I opened the fridge to find it full of the food I had bought. That was real. I bought enough food for two. Well, enough for one and Sherlock. Thinking his name made my knees shake and I had to breathe to control myself.

Nothing was much different about the kitchen. Newspapers were spread out over the table though. I assumed I must have put them there and erased the memory to keep my illusion going. I had heard of things like that happening to psychiatric patients. Seems like if I really went off on the crazy wagon then this would also apply to me.

In the living room I saw the sheet music I had pulled out for him. It was swept aside in a pile, his violin next to it. I ran a hand over it. It had been fixed but then again I was the one to fix it so it made sense. The _Ghostbuster _DVDs were still out. I guessed I had watched those on my own. I must have eaten more popcorn than I realized.

Then I reached his chair. That's when reality really set in for me. It hadn't been sat in in over six months. I ran a finger along the seat and a line of dirt was cleared. No one had sat here. He had never been here.

It was all a lie.

I fell to the ground in front of his chair and held my head again. I was sick of crying. I had a headache and a chest ache from it. I just wanted to make it all go away. I wanted it to have never happened.

I wanted to be numb again.

I stayed like that for a while trying to sort out my thoughts when my phone rang. I looked at it to see it was Lestrade calling. I guessed I never did call him like I said. I figured I should answer. Best not to leave him too worried and I really didn't want him coming over right now.

"Hello?" My voice was hoarse from the torment.

"John. Hi. I was just calling to see how you are."

"I'm fine Greg."

"John I walked in on you talking to yourself in the bathroom. You are obviously not fine."

"I just had a bit too much Greg. I really am fine." I knew I didn't sound fine. I just really didn't want people to keep asking.

"Are you talking to anyone?"

"You mean my therapist." He had already found out about the fight between me and Harry. He knew I wasn't talking to her. He also knew I wouldn't talk to my army buddies about this. We weren't one to talk about something so sensitive.

"Are you?"

"I'm fine. I don't need a therapist. I was drunk." My tone was clipped and I was sorry for that but I just wanted him to hang up. I never should have answered.

"I'm just worried about you. You just seemed so fine this week and then…you know you can talk to me about anything right? If you need it."

"Thanks Greg. I appreciate it. I really do. But I am fine. If I wasn't, I'd let you know."

"Alright." He didn't sound satisfied with my answer. "If you say so."

"I do. Look, I got to go."

"Okay. Take care of yourself."

"You too."

I hung up and threw the phone to the couch. I didn't want to answer the damn thing again.

I stayed sitting a bit more. It really was a hard thing to grasp on to.

The past week of my life had been a lie. How do you come back from that?

I stayed out of his room that night. I couldn't go back there. I was afraid I would see him in the doorway again. I couldn't face it.

I would rather have the nightmares.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: **Thank you guys for the reviews :) I'm glad the way its written makes sense and I'm glad you like it. Last chapter was supposed to leave you...not happy. I know, I'm evil.  
I should let you know that there will be more chapters. I won't tell you how many more to keep you guessing but we're not done yet.  
Oh and also this is not beta-ed. So all mistakes are my own.

* * *

After that day I pushed myself back into habit.

The lack of sleep made it easy to do. I just lived with my life and went through the motions. I didn't try to fix anything that was moved while I had been crazy. I just got up, ate, went to work, came home, and slept. I avoided alcohol at all costs, getting rid of the whiskey in the cabinet altogether. I didn't want to see him again. I couldn't' face it.

I ignored the fact that the realization that I had a hallucination deleted almost all of my hope. I had believed he would come back to me. Someday. I believed it so much my mind made it up in front of me. Now what could I believe?

A part of me couldn't help but still believe in him.

The numbness started to settle back in, until a few nights later. Almost two weeks since the first appearance, a little less than a week since it left, and I was on the couch watching some TV. I was flipping through the channels when I heard his name. I went back through to the channel I heard it on to see some women on some late night comedy show making some joke about his death.

A joke.

I shut off the TV and leaned down into my hands. I had been doing so well and that brought it all back.

"John?" I heard him next to me on the couch. Calling my name. "What are you doing?" I looked up and over and sure enough there he was. He was stretched out wearing a dark suit with the shiny dark purple shirt underneath. He couldn't be wearing that shirt. That was his shirt.

"Go away," I growled at it.

It stared up at me with mock confusion. I closed my eyes again willing it to go away. When I opened them again it was on the other side of the room looking through his sheet music.

"If you made that chicken again I feel I could stomach it." It was speaking to me but I didn't want to hear anything it had to say.

"I said go away." I pushed up off the couch and went to make myself some more tea. I needed something to make me tired so I could go to bed and sleep off this daytime nightmare.

"Really John, you know it doesn't work like that." It popped up behind me in the kitchen not even bothering walking over. It just popped.

"Well then how does it work?" I continued to make my tea, the water was almost warm enough already, and felt the tremors start in my hand. This one didn't have the same comforting atmosphere the first one had. I knew this one was fake. It didn't feel safe.

"You know you don't know psychology well enough. That's not your field of study. I only know what you know."

"And that's where the illusion shatters." I mumbled sarcastically. Not that it mattered. It could probably read my thoughts.

"It's not my fault you don't use your mind. Especially not this week. Isn't that right? Just going through the motions." I chose to ignore it and sit down with my tea in my chair. "Would you like to know how I know?"

"You already said you know everything I know. I know what I've been doing."

"Do you?" The arrogance just poured off it.

"You really need to leave."

Screw the tea. I put it down and started towards the bathroom to get ready for the night. As soon as I was in the bathroom I could hear the violin music. Every note made my chest hurt more. I didn't know how I could take much more.

I finished getting ready and headed out towards my room using the cane to help up the stairs. It popped up in front of me just as I reached the top.

"Why do I need to leave?" It was leaning in my doorway and only scooted over enough so I could pass. It sounded angry. "Your mind created me for a reason, are you just going to ignore that reason?"

"Yes." I moved onto my bed and slid under my covers making sure my alarm was set for work. Only one more day this week and then I had to find something to fill my weekend. As long as I stayed busy it shouldn't harass me. I pushed my eyes closed and tried to ignore the presence I felt in the room.

"You need me John." It said my name again. In his voice. I couldn't stand it.

"No I don't need you!" I bolted upright in my bed and faced it. I knew it wasn't real but it really needed to go away. "You're not him! I need him! Not you! Now get the hell out of my room and leave me the hell alone!" I flopped back onto my bed and pulled the covers over my head.

I didn't hear it say anything else. But I did hear violin notes quietly fill my room. I clapped my hands over my ears.

It was very hard to fall asleep.

* * *

It was gone the next morning.

It was gone that weekend. I spent most of my time reading and I spent lunch with Mrs. Hudson. She was concerned that I was not happy like I had been but I pushed the subject away. I didn't want to talk about how happy my hallucination made me. I wasn't about to tell her about that.

I was scared to see it again. I half expected it to show up around every corner. Eventually I let that thought go. I managed to make it disappear once, I could do it again.

* * *

My pattern resumed for four days before things changed. I was on my way home from work when someone on the sidewalk collapsed in front of me. People started to surround the man and I ran forward.

I was a doctor after all.

I ordered someone to call an ambulance as I took his pulse and realized he needed CPR. I gave it to him until the bus came and they had me ride along so I could tell them what happened. There was too much of a scene on the street to stay and ask there. I was able to leave right after they made it to the hospital.

I didn't realize what hospital we were at until I stepped outside the ambulance.

St. Bart's was staring me in the face. My jaw dropped as flashes of what had happened started to visualize in front of me. It wasn't as realistic as my hallucinations but my memories were vivid enough. I had been avoiding this hospital at all costs for such a long time now.

I froze.

There he was standing on the roof, phone pressed up to his ear. His mouth was moving but I couldn't hear the words. I didn't need to. I knew what he was saying. Then he hung up. I saw the fear in his eyes right before he jumped. His coat billowed and his hair flapped around him. He looked like he was flying but that wasn't true was it?

He was falling.

Falling down, down until there was nowhere left to fall. Until he landed hard on the concrete at my feet. Dark red blood trickled from his head pooling around his body. Then there I was trying to get to him. People wouldn't' let me through. They wouldn't let me see him. I was stuck watching from the outside.

"Come on John." I heard his voice call out next to my ear pulling me out of my distant memories. "Let's go home." I felt a tug on my arm.

I was too in shock to argue and I allowed this force bring me to the sidewalk where I hailed a cab and ordered the cabbie to bring me back to 221B. I was moving on auto as I walked up the stairs and collapsed on my chair letting my cane fall to the side.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" It was calling to me from the kitchen. This one was wearing a suit with a white shirt this time. His hair was still cut though.

"Is that me making the tea then?" I smiled. Hallucinations couldn't make tea.

"However you want to think about it. It's to the right of you." I looked and sure enough there was a steaming cup of my favorite all ready. That was fast.

"Thanks." I felt stupid for thanking it when I obviously made it, but then again I guess it was like talking to myself.

Also crazy.

I felt it sit down next to me and I saw it sprawling out. "I suppose you would like to talk about it?" It asked crossing its arms over its chest.

"You already know what happened." I took a sip and laughed at how good my tea was. I wanted to say that to it, but also I didn't.

"Thank you." It read my mind. "And for simple minded people like you, it helps to talk about how you feel. From what I observed anyway."

"Oh so now you're pretending to be him?" I glared at it bitterly.

It knew, I knew it wasn't real. How dare it try to make me think otherwise?

"I'm only what you want me to be."

I had to take a moment after it said that.

What did I want?

"I want you to be him." It was something I meant to only say in my head but I guess I said it out loud.

"Well then, get on with it. Don't make me more bored than I already am."

He pushed up and rolled over onto his side. I couldn't help myself. I started to see him there. I knew it wasn't real but I wanted it to be.

"I saw it happen." More flashes from St. Bart crossed in my mind. I closed my eyes and willed them to go away.

"I already apologized for that."

"It doesn't take back the fact that I saw. It's not something you can just get over."

"Why not?"

"What do you mean, why not?" Because it was traumatic that's why. Because my brain can't even function correctly since it happened.

"Why not just block the memory?"

"Not all minds work like yours."

"Obviously. I meant use techniques and build defenses in your mind. You can look them up online. Anyone can do it. Even you."

"You're such a condescending bastard." I laughed out loud.

"As if you would have me any other way." His smugness was infuriating.

Or at least it would be if I could have felt mad at that time. Right then I was still in shock from being at St. Bart's. I couldn't really process what I was feeling. Or what I was doing.

"I'm not going to do that. My mind is messed up enough. I can deal with it."

"Yes because you're dealing so well right now." He sarcastically responded.

That time I did feel a bit mad. Mostly I felt tired. I hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in almost a week and half. This situation was draining me.

"I'm going to take a nap." I picked up my cane and made my way towards the stairs. I could feel him following me all the way up until I got to my room. Each step was easier and easier to take. I turned to see him in the doorway. "What are you doing?"

"Continuing my sleep study."

"You're not real. There is no sleep study." I replied bitterly. So it wasn't a different person every time. It was always the same version of him. At least I wouldn't get too lost if this happened again. That reminded me… "Will you always answer any question I have truthfully?"

"That is what I said I'd do."

That was good. At least if I got too lost in my mind's made up reality I could ask and he would tell me what was real. Probably not the safest option but it was something.

"Are you real?"

"I'm only as real as you make me." Cryptic but true.

"Will you still be here when I wake up?"

"Only if you want me to be."

"Even if I know you're not real?"

"Yes."

It didn't really make sense. The first time when I adamantly believed he was real I wanted him to stick around even when I realized he wasn't. Why would one stick around if I knew it wasn't real? It probably had to do with how much my mind could handle.

I started to slip out of my jumper and shoes when he entered my room completely and shut the door behind him. He walked over to the side of my bed and I started to feel a bit uncomfortable. "Um...what do you think you're doing?"

"You want to sleep without nightmares. You think my presence will prevent them."

I couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed by what he said. I knew it helped, knowing he was there. It helped with the first one. But I never thought I would ask for it. Even subconsciously. But it was my own brain telling me that so I guess it had to be true. I never thought of myself asking for a man's presence in my bedroom just to get rid of my bad dreams. It was an odd thought.

I guessed I must have been asking for it all along. It explained why the first one kept coming back every night.

"Is that what the sleep study was?"

"Yes."

I nodded and proceeded to lie down. It was all very strange. And it wasn't real. I thought he may not even be there when I woke up. I guessed I would have to deal with it when I did.

I felt cool fingertips slide over my wrist and a weight sank down on my bed. I closed my eyes and smiled.

Strange or not, I didn't want it to end. Crazy or not I didn't care.

I couldn't lose him again.

* * *

I woke up a few hours later to find him in the same position I had fallen asleep in. Only this time my hand was wrapped up in his instead of his fingers being on my wrist. I didn't think much of it. I just squeezed his hand relishing in the fake touch and fell back asleep.

* * *

I probably shouldn't have taken that nap. I woke up in the middle of the night having to use the bathroom. He was there again when I woke up and I separated myself from him so I could take care of it. When I came back up the stairs I realized I forgot my cane again.

I realized I didn't need it.

I was awake now though. I had to be up for work soon. It was enough time that I had to chose. I either had to wake up for the day now or try and sleep through the rest of the night. I had only gotten about five hours from my 'nap' so it seemed like I should be able to get a couple more but it was that horrible knowledge that I had to wake up soon that was waking me up. It was driving me crazy.

Well, more crazy than I already was.

When I entered my room I found him still there only this time he had his violin with him on my desk. I looked at him confused and he sighed, for dramatic effect probably.

"To help you sleep. I found my playing can put you to sleep if needed."

"You've done this before?"

"Yes."

"Alright then," I mused. "Play away." I laid back down on the bed and curled under my warm covers.

I wondered how I could have memorized his songs. It must have been subconsciously. It didn't matter. I was glad I had. Now my crazy brain could play them for me when I couldn't sleep. That was a plus.

As soon as I shut my eyes I heard the melody of a lullaby start up. Within the first few minutes I found my thoughts drifting away from me and my eyes getting heavy. I gave in and let myself go.

Completely.

* * *

I knew he wasn't real. I really did. But I wanted to play along and so I did. For almost a whole week I was able to let myself go.

My mind would make everything up. I didn't have to think of a thing. He would disappear when Mrs. Hudson visited and come back when we were alone. We wouldn't leave the flat and we would do normal things while there.

I didn't want him to leave. The idea made me miss him more. The real him.

When he was gone and before these hallucinations came around I held onto the memory of him. I relished in everything he ever did and ever said. I felt the biggest loss when I was reminded he wasn't around. Since the hallucinations, I'd been reminded of every detail that I loved about him. Even the annoying ones made me happy because they were him. I could never have asked him to change himself.

That's why my hallucinations were flawed. I could never create a perfect him. I wasn't smart enough to.

That and apparently my subconscious couldn't be too mean to me. These hallucinations were just a bit too nice when they should have been more arrogant and child-like.

Then my hallucination would do something that was completely normal and him. He would throw a temper tantrum at something so stupid or complain about not being able to do a case. For those brief moments I could trick myself into believing it was really him. I would feel a rush of something I couldn't explain. I felt whole again.

Every night he would come to my room with his violin. I wouldn't let him out of my sight. I was worried he would disappear if I did.

Every night I would wake to him feeling my pulse or my hand would be moving into his. More than once I found myself snuggling into his back as he sat on my bed. I needed the physical contact to reassure myself that he was there. Even if I knew it wasn't true.

* * *

On that Thursday night I pushed things a little further.

I woke up without him being there. He wasn't on my bed, he wasn't in my room, I couldn't hear his violin. I started to hyperventilate.

I couldn't' lose him again. I didn't want to. I didn't want to go back. I wanted him back. He said he wouldn't go.

I closed my eyes trying to bring him back. When I opened them again I saw him standing at the end of my bed rushing over to my side.

"What's wrong?" He grabbed my arm and I pulled him into me. I grabbed him tight and started to shamelessly sob into his shoulder. The real man would never let me do this but I needed it so this version let me. He wrapped his own arms around me and moved to sit next to me on the bed. He made small circles on my back with his hands until I calmed down enough to talk.

"You weren't here. I woke up and you weren't here." I held onto him tighter and tighter afraid he would poof away.

"Shh. It was because you were sleeping. You woke up not fully awake and your brain hadn't created me yet."

"No." I shook my head against his shoulder.

"Lie to me."

He knew what I meant and what I wanted.

"I wasn't here because I got bored. I couldn't watch you sleep another second. I had to find something to do that wasn't so dull." The arrogance was perfect along with the drawled out use of the words bored and dull. It was just what I needed.

I slid down into the bed keeping my hand on his arm. I moved over to create some room and pulled him down next to me. I didn't care if this wasn't real. To me it was. I didn't care if the real man would never allow this. I wanted it. He slid down a little hesitantly onto his back and I draped an arm over his chest and rested my head against his shoulder.

"Don't leave again." I closed my eyes and gripped tighter onto his shoulder.

"I won't." I felt his hand rest against my arm and I fell asleep in his touch.

* * *

Friday, Saturday and Sunday night were the same. I didn't wake up lost and without him. I automatically dragged him into bed with me. I didn't care if it was a little homosexual or weird or whatever. I was acting on instinct. Besides, it didn't mean anything if it was with a hallucination.

Monday night happened a little differently.

I came home from work to find Lestrade waiting for me on my couch. I panicked thinking I had forgotten to meet him somewhere but I didn't remember making plans. Knowing my crazy brain though I probably deleted it. Oh god, I was thinking like him.

"Greg?" I walked into the room awkwardly. It was my apartment but he was still there without my permission.

"John." He didn't seem happy.

"What are you doing here? Is everything alright?" I was starting not to be alright. I was looking forward to seeing my imaginary buddy and now I couldn't because I couldn't be crazy in front of normal people. Ordinary people. They would care.

"I had a talk with your sister."

"Oh?" Now I definitely wasn't alright.

"She told me what you two fought about."

"Did she now?" I could feel the tremor start in my hand and I automatically started to make tea to busy myself. I could feel the fight coming.

"Why didn't you tell me it was that bad?"

"What do you mean?" I clenched my hand into a fist. What right did he have to come into my home uninvited to yell at me about something he talked about behind my back with my sister?

"You're sleeping in his bed John."

"I _was_ sleeping in his bed. I'm not anymore."

"That's not the point. You still haven't gotten rid of any of his things. You shut everyone out of your life. Mrs. Hudson is worried about you. She hears you talking to yourself all the time. She says you won't talk to her. You won't talk to your sister. You won't talk to me. And then I find you talking to yourself in the bathroom."

"I was drunk!" It was a pathetic argument and I knew it.

"And how often do you drink John? We don't know! His death was hard on all of us. I was friends with him too but this is ridiculous. You can't keep doing this to yourself. Something is going on and everyone can see that. You need help. Psychiatric help. We can't help you until you want to help yourself."

"I don't need your help Greg. You don't understand alright? I had to watch as the man that meant-" I stopped myself form saying_ 'everything to me'_. "I had to watch him kill himself. He made me watch!"

"And how are you expected to handle that on your own? You need to talk to someone!"

"I don't want to talk to anyone! I am doing fine."

"Bullshit. Bullshit John. You are not fine. You are falling apart over someone who is gone. Sherlock died almost seven months ago."

Almost on cue my mind worked its magic and there the man sat on the couch over Lestrade 's shoulder looking up at the ceiling. He wore a new outfit that day, something my brain was doing to make it more believable. Always a suit or his pajamas, or just a sheet, whatever the time called for. That day it was a suit with a green silk shirt underneath. Purple was still my favorite but I think my brain saved that for special occasions. I caught myself staring at him and shook myself to yell back at Lestrade .

"He meant more to me than you can understand." I looked back towards the couch where he was still looking up at the ceiling and I could see the hint of a smile on his face. I would have smiled back if Lestrade wasn't in the room.

"I understand he was special to you. You were special to him." He took a pause and it looked like he was debating whether or not he wanted to say the next thing. He looked uncomfortable. "I'm pretty sure you guys didn't tell us how deep your relationship went. That's okay John. You can tell me. You need to tell someone."

"I really don't." I didn't need to justify the way I was acting to Lestrade. I didn't need to talk to him about how I felt.

"You can't let yourself be destroyed by the death of a loved one. You need to check back into reality." He had no idea how true that statement was. "When you decide to do that, you can call me. Otherwise don't bother. I can't watch you do this to yourself."

I didn't know what to say to that and Lestrade left. I felt a headache forming and put down the cup in my hands to rub them across my eyes.

I felt cool hands wrap over mine and I looked up to find Sherlock there in front of me. His long fingers wrapped around mine and pulled my hands from my face.

"What did he mean?" I didn't need to elaborate. He could read my mind after all. He pulled my hands down to rest between us and kept his soothing circles up with his thumbs on the back of my hand.

"He spoke with Harry. They probably talked and think the same thing. We were more than just friends. Your feelings ran deeper."

I stared at him for a moment but couldn't think of how to process or even answer that. So I closed my eyes. "God I feel so alone." Without asking he wrapped me up in another hug and I tucked my head under his chin re-closing my eyes to the outside world.

"You're not alone. You have me."

I did have him. I had him for as long as I wanted to remain in my made up fantasy world. As long as I kept shutting out everyone I knew. As long as I kept myself alone. There was no telling how long I could keep that up. I always knew he wasn't real. What if one day I decided that wasn't enough? Could I even go back to my old life?

Realization tumbled over me.

"I can't keep you." I tugged him closer to me and I felt one of his hands run up my back and brush through the back of my hair. That hand started to pet the back of my head as the other held me close.

"I know."

I couldn't keep him.

They had a point. They all did. I was living in a fantasy world. Even if it was better than the real world, soon I would lose grip with reality. I would never be able to return if I did that. It would be too hard to give this up. I had to quit while I had the chance.

I was an addict.

I laughed against his shoulder. I really was becoming more and more like him every day.

* * *

The rest of the day wasn't very eventful. I was just trying to figure stuff out in my head and he left me alone.

Before bed I went to the kitchen quick to grab something I kept hidden in the silverware drawer. In the back I picked up the tiny key that went to his room. I couldn't get rid of it, but I had to close it off. I walked over to it and stood in the doorway memorizing everything for the longest time. I didn't want to touch anything. I didn't want to take anything. I wanted to leave it just as I left it last. Bed messy from me sleeping in it. Purple shirt wrinkled and laying atop the pillow. All clothes I had left in there had already been removed from earlier.

I felt him walk up behind me. He put a hand on my shoulder and shut the door for me. I locked it shut, double checking it wouldn't open, and brought the key back up to my room. I put it in a small box that I kept in a desk drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. That statement was so true I laughed.

I got ready for bed slowly that night. I knew I was about to regret my decision. I needed to do it though. There wasn't a way out.

I slid into bed and moved over enough for him to slide in too. It wasn't a question or a tentative act anymore. It was habit. Something we just did. He would lay on his back and I would curl up into his side. Sometimes I would even use him as my pillow, listening to his breathing and heart as it put me to sleep. Other times he would hold my hand or stroke my back as we faced each other side to side. That night was one of those nights.

I didn't even see him follow me up, but there he was sliding in next to me. I smiled at him sadly and he returned the same smile. We faced each other side to side and he gripped both of my hands, holding them between us. I could already feel my eyes prickling with water. I had thought I'd cried myself out by now.

"Ask." His baritone voice shook the bed whenever he spoke.

It was going to be just another thing I missed. I never would have known that with the real Sherlock.

I didn't want to ask but I had to. He would always be honest with me. I needed to know.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" I bit my lip as I looked up at him. I knew it was stupid to be hopeful but I was. Even though I made the decision not to keep him around, I still wanted him. I was hoping that would be enough. That my brain wouldn't listen to me.

His hands squeezed mine tight and his curvy lips pouted slightly before whispering out his answer; "No."

I closed my eyes and let a few tears fall down onto my pillow. Everything was crushing down on me. How could I face it alone?

I felt him move closer as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled my head into his chest. I left tear stains on his jacket but a part of me knew it didn't matter. He whispered soothing words to the top of my head and I felt him kiss my hair.

It was what I wanted. It was what I needed. It was what he gave me.

* * *

**AN: **I know, you're not happy again. More chapters will come and soon.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning was hard to say the least. He told the truth. He wasn't there. I was alone. Completely alone and he wasn't coming back.

That entire week was hard. A full week of being alone.

I didn't even have Lestrade. I could have called him to tell him I was trying to move on but I didn't know if I could explain how. I couldn't just tell him I kicked my hallucinations out of my head. It was easier not to say anything.

Then there was a day when everything went wrong.

I had been late to work due to nightmares and started off slow. Then I had to diagnose a kid with cancer. Normally we didn't have to deal with that type of thing in our office but it was a lucky but unhappy coincidence. It popped up on one of his scans. Then I found someone had stolen my wallet. I found this out in line at the store when I was buying the food for the week, making me have to return every item I had already gotten out. My limp had returned so that made it all the more difficult. When I finally got back with the cash I had in the apartment I had to recollect everything and ended up getting wine as well. Then I filed my report on the burglary the formal way realizing I didn't have a friend on the force anymore. Then when I got back to the apartment Mrs. Hudson was sick. I had to make her dinner and take care of her. Then I found a letter from Mycroft waiting for me. It seemed he wanted to know how I was doing. I didn't believe he really did. It was probably just something my sister or Lestrade put him up to. I'd of bet Lestrade. I decided to use it to light myself a fire while I drank my wine.

I had known it was a stupid idea to drink. I saw what it did to me before. I knew what drinking to feel better would lead to. But for the first time in my life I understood why Harry did it. Maybe it would be better to be drunk all the time. Being sober wasn't fun these days.

Well I drank myself almost the whole bottle when I heard the tisking noise coming from behind me.

"You're not supposed to be here." I said to him before he could say anything. I laughed too, but I think that was the alcohol.

"And you're not supposed to be drinking." He twirled his chair around closer and sat across from me. He looked good. Especially with the orange glow of the fire dancing across his features. Black suit, purple shirt, cut hair. He looked less thin than the first time I pictured him. It suited him.

"I'm supposed to be giving you up."

"And yet here you are creating me." He flourished his hands in front of him and adjusted himself on the chair.

I smiled at him and rocked my head to the side. "How do I get rid of you?"

"You'll figure that out when you want to."

"I do want to." I was lying. So obviously lying. I already was starting to feel better with him in the room. My bad day started to disappear.

"No. You _did_ want to. Today you did not."

"Well you have me beat there." I took another swig from my wine.

"Of course I do. I'm smarter than you."

"How can I be smarter than myself?"

"Stop asking stupid questions."

I lost myself into an uncontrollable fit of giggles at that. He started laughing too. Although I'm pretty sure he was laughing at me and not with me.

* * *

That night I went to bed and he followed me. I hated myself for giving into my drunken delusion but I couldn't let it go. Not that day. It had been too hard of a day.

I had the option in front of me again. I could accept I was crazy, get help, stop seeing him, and get my friends back. Or I could keep living the lie that made me happy and be completely alone. One was hard, the other was easy. I wasn't sure I wanted the ending of the hard one. I wasn't sure I wanted the consequences of the easy one. I chose what I always knew I'd choose in the end.

I chose Sherlock.

I wasn't happy with myself about it. Not at first.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning I found myself alone. I was pushed over to one side of my bed but that was out of habit at this point. I didn't think anything of it.

I hadn't gotten too drunk last night so I remembered everything. I knew what my drunken mind created and I was not happy about it. I couldn't keep doing this. They day before had been hard and I understood that but I shouldn't have needed him there.

I shouldn't have, but I did.

I went downstairs to make myself some tea and there he was in the kitchen looking the same as the night before. I groaned and ignored him being there. How could I have been so weak? It had been so hard to get rid of the last one. It took a real toll on me. I was only hurting myself by creating him again.

"You know John, a hangover is not conducive in your line of work." I ignored him and started to get ready for the day. "The silent treatment? How childish." I walked past him and into the bathroom shutting the door and washing cold water over my face.

I went back out to finish my breakfast and he wasn't there. That was good I thought. Maybe I had gotten rid of him easy this time.

When was I ever right?

"You wanted me here." He popped up next to me as I finished off my tea. "You made me real. You can't get rid of me that easy."

"You're not real." I also wanted to say how I didn't want him and how I wanted the real thing but I think it was pointless to argue. He already knew.

"I am real."

"No you're not."

I pushed past him again and moved back into the bathroom. I started a shower and hopped in trying to wash him away. I couldn't let myself go again. I had to fight this one. I did it with the last one and the one before, I could do it again.

"I'm as real as you make me."

He had popped in outside of the shower and I jumped when he did. On basic instinct I covered myself. I guess there wasn't a point really but I did it anyway. I popped my head out of the shower to yell at him to leave me alone but he was already gone.

* * *

He didn't bother me again while getting ready for work. He didn't follow me to work either.

He was there when I got back though, playing on his violin. A part of me just wanted to smash it. I was sure it wouldn't stop the music though. Not at this point.

"I want you to leave," was my greeting. I had this worked out while I was at work that day. I couldn't keep him. I had to do the hard thing. I had to move on. I wouldn't give in to him in the slightest.

"I'll only leave when that's true."

"If you don't leave, then I'm moving." It made sense didn't it? If I left the apartment then I could get him out of my head.

"I'll follow you. Really John, you're not that hard to figure out. You've probably already started looking in today's paper. Predictable."

"No. Stop pretending you're him. You are not him."

"I'm as much of him as you want me to be."

I closed my eyes and rubbed them hard. I kept repeating to myself: _go away, go away, go away_. When I opened my eyes, he was gone. Relief flooded over me.

But not for long.

* * *

Then next day was met with silence.

The nightmares were still there. I went to my doctor and told him about my sleeping trouble. He gave me some prescription sleeping pills. I would have done that sooner but a part of me didn't want to get rid of the nightmares. They grounded me to reality. Sherlock was dead. I saw it happen.

I saw it happen every night.

I couldn't afford to lose any more sleep though. As a doctor the lack of sleep was never beneficial. I was afraid if this kept up that I would make a real mistake one time. The last thing I needed was a malpractice suit. And I was fairly certain I could stay in reality. I knew he was dead. I knew I was crazy. I could tell what was real.

When it came close for me to go to bed I took the pills with some water and headed towards my room. The pills took an hour to kick in but I could feel my body relaxing when they did. I crawled into bed and let the relaxation take me away. I hadn't been this relaxed in a very long time.

As my eyes were closing, right before I fell asleep, I saw him. Standing there in the darkness. He didn't say anything. He just stood there by my door watching me. He was wearing the purple shirt still.

I woke up groggy but at least I slept through the night. He wasn't there when my alarm went off. He wasn't there when I was in the shower. He wasn't there when I had my breakfast. He wasn't there when I left for work. I thought I was silly for worrying myself so much. I was beginning to get paranoid.

When I came home, he wasn't there. I decided to watch some TV instead of read that night.

Maybe that was my mistake. Maybe because I was watching mind numbing TV my subconscious took over. Maybe it was because I took the sleeping pills early that night.

I should have read.

He burst in through the front door allowing it to slam open. It scared me up and off the couch. He looked up at me ragged, breathing heavy. His clothes were ripped, his hair was long and messy, his coat was dirty, he was extremely skinny. He looked like he was being chased.

"John!" He ran in and slammed the door and moved over to me grabbing both of my shoulders to keep me in place. "I know this is a bit of a shock but you're just going to have to deal with it. No I'm not dead. I lied to you and I'm sorry but you have to help me. I need you."

My brain had gone too far that time. It was too real. He was shaking, he was sweating, he was cold. He looked frantic, he looked worried, he looked sick. Every bone in my body told me not to believe it. To yell at him. Tell him to leave. To get him out.

Then there was the other part of me. That part was just so tired. I just wanted this to be over one way or another. It told me that my brain was doing this for a reason and I should just ride it out.

I was just so tired.

I sank down on the couch and pulled him down with me. He still looked apprehensive but he did what I wanted. I looked over at him. He just looked so real. Every physical detail was perfect.

He was shaking making the dark curls on his forehead move with him. The dark circles under his eyes made his blue eyes look grayer than normal. That made them look all the more calculating as I watched them bounce around me and around the room. His skinniness made his cheekbones stick out more, only making him look better. Especially with that coat turned up like it was, his blue scarf folded underneath. I always thought that though.

His lips were slightly parted as if he had something to say but was waiting for me. I followed the curves of his top lips up and down before realizing I was staring. I then dropped my gaze down to his suit. It was indeed ripped like the first one's, worn and had seen better days. This one's mistake was the purple shirt. The purple shirt was untouched and clean hugging his body just as it had done before, but sticking out in his ragged appearance.

"If I help you…" I brought my eyes back up to his. "How do I find myself again?"

"You found yourself, in the first place, by helping me."

"But I know you're not him."

"I'm as real as you make me."

It was then or never. I had to make a decision. I had to choose.

I grabbed his head in my hands and looked him over. He had no injuries, he just looked extra pale.

"Alright Sherlock, what'd you get into this time?"

Sherlock smiled up at me and put a hand on my knee quickly squeezing it before jumping up and going into a long story about a case he was on. About how he had been doing cases since he faked his death. They were all to shut down Moriarty. If he was ever gone, that was what he was doing. But he would always come back.

I accepted it. I accepted his case story and I accepted his fake suicide. I didn't know why my mind made me re-live him explaining that part to me. My reaction was much better though because I knew what was coming. I think that was why.

To give me a fresh start with this Sherlock.

He deduced me again as well. I played along asking him how he knew and he would give me some reasoning that had to do with my trash or some scratches on the wall or something.

I fell hard that night. I fell into the reality that wasn't true. I let myself believe it.

Sherlock was alive and he was with me.

We couldn't let anyone see him so he had to stay inside. He couldn't work Yard cases until he finished taking down Moriarty, which wouldn't be for a while. I accepted everything he said.

The part of me that knew it wasn't real was pushed down. Far, far down. I didn't want to listen to that part. I wouldn't. I made my decision.

That night he followed me to my room. He said he wanted to study my breathing patterns and my heart rate in sleep now that I was taking sleeping pills. It was hard to understand how this one gave me a fresh start but still clung to the sleep study like the others. He said it was a new experiment. I didn't argue and there he was on my bed again taking my pulse and watching over me.

The next morning I made him breakfast and tea and he didn't eat but he drank. I left for work and he promised not to destroy the flat too much. Well he more huffed at me but I took that as a promise.

I was in a better mood that day at work. I had slept through the night again. I was a little groggy from the pills but I was okay. I had something to look forward to when I got home.

And when I did get home, there he was. Playing his violin. I sat down and read a book while he played. I even started a fire. It was soothing. It was comforting. It was safe. It was my new normal.

* * *

I ignored Sherlock's room. Deep down I knew that I had locked it shut and the key was in my room and I didn't want the reminder. If I passed it I would just tell myself that Sherlock shut it himself.

I didn't like to be away from Sherlock if I could help it. I wanted the reminder that he was there at all times. Over the next few weeks I found myself needing not only to be in the same room with him but to also touch him. Just to be reminded physically that he was there.

When I passed him something like my computer or his tea I would make sure our fingers brushed. When I passed him his coat for our late night walks, I would run my hands down his arms. There were even a few occasions where I would casually scratch his head while watching television. More than once he rested his head on my thighs waiting for me to do it. It always made me happy when he did. At night I made sure he was always there and I soon got into the habit of pulling him down next to me again.

When he slept next to me I didn't need the sleeping pills. It was probably better that way. I was no longer groggy in the morning. Just fully refreshed from a nightmareless sleep. Sherlock didn't complain.

After the first week Sherlock was getting on my nerves from his boredom. I suggested we go out for a stroll past midnight again. We did that on the weekends or any night I didn't have work the next day, sometimes when I did. He would deduce people and we would both keep an eye out for any danger. Over our time walking we stopped three burglaries, four beatings, and two murders. The adrenaline rush was always pleasant. It was what we both needed. It felt good to help people again.

I shut other people out. I didn't need them because I had Sherlock. I didn't think I could let people into my life anyway. How could you tell someone you were seeing your dead friend? Having to hide him would just be a reminder that he wasn't actually real.

So I would talk to people. I would make pleasant conversation but I wouldn't go out of my way. Everyone started to see how I was doing better again, how I was happier, but I didn't let them think too much on it.

Lestrade and my sister had not tried to contact me since the last time I spoke to them. It made me slightly sad but they of all people wouldn't understand. They were the ones yelling at me to stop. I missed them a bit but then I would come home to Sherlock and he would take my thoughts away.

Mrs. Hudson was the one I talked to the most. She stopped in on her _let's see how John is today _visits less and less. I knew I wasn't good company. Even if I was happier, I still shut her out. But she would still visit and I would talk with her. Sherlock would go off in his room. She was happy I was happy but she still wanted me to get out more. Go meet a girl or something. I tried to stay off that subject.

Things continued like that for three weeks. I would stay in my world of Sherlock and I would be happy.

I wasn't truly completely happy though. There was always that nagging feeling that something was missing. It could be the way this Sherlock said something bellow his intellect level, the way he let me touch him, the way he slept in my bed every night, the way he still occasionally wore that purple shirt, the lack of text messages pulling me from work, the lack of explosions, the lack of complaining, the way he touched me. The little things were adding up. I tried to ignore them and push them down but it didn't make them go away. Not really.

I had to face that I couldn't make the perfect Sherlock.

It was the third weekend when I couldn't push down that fact anymore. We were lying about the flat and Sherlock was talking about something. I really hadn't been paying attention so it didn't matter. I was too busy trying to shove down my lingering thoughts.

"John?" Sherlock asked from his chair. He was wrapped up in a sheet that day. Too lazy to put on real clothes.

"Yes Sherlock?"

"The point of me telling you this is so you'll actually listen. The scull is doing a better job than you."

"Right. Sorry."

"You want to tell me what is so fascinating in your mind that it can compete with mine?"

Right then I had been going over the times I had spent before I hallucinated. I was going over my time living with Harry and coming back here. I wasn't sure I wanted to tell him. But then again I guessed it really didn't matter.

"Did you know I used to look for signs from you to tell me you were actually alive? I was always disappointed when I didn't find anything."

"Maybe you just couldn't see them. Maybe I overestimated your observation skills."

"No he would never- you would never."

"Don't be so sure. Have you looked?"

"Course I looked. I looked everywhere."

"Did you?"

"Why do I get the feeling you know something I don't?"

"Do try to catch up. I can't spell everything out for you."

What did he mean now? I did look everywhere. I looked at his things, I looked in the apartment, I looked at my stuff. Where else was I supposed to look? The only other places he went were the lab at St. Bart's, the Yard, and maybe Angelo's. He had to know I wouldn't have gone to those places. Didn't he? Maybe he expected me to handle it better.

"Well I'm not going to the Yard."

"Ah so you've finally caught up. A whole ten seconds."

"Isn't Angelo's too public for you?"

"You expect me to come along."

"If it's not too much trouble." Why wouldn't I want the man who made the clue there himself? "And if it is, the answer is still yes."

"We'll go to St. Bart's rooftop tonight instead of the park."

"The rooftop?"

"Where else John."

* * *

We were on our way to the rooftop and I was having strong second thoughts. My mind couldn't process the truth in what I was doing. I was following Sherlock who was going to show me if he did or did not leave a clue that he was still alive on the rooftop he jumped from. He couldn't just tell me himself though because he was not the real Sherlock who did it. He didn't even know. I was curious so I was following him to find out for myself. I didn't know what I'd find up there and I didn't know what to believe.

It was all very confusing.

We snuck in through the hospital easy enough. I could already feel the panic attack start. I hadn't stepped foot in this building in a very long time. Just standing outside of it made me go into shock the last time. How could I possibly make it to the roof?

Only knowing he was there with me made it better. So I climbed up the stairs trying to keep up with his lanky legs. Then there we were. It was staring me in the face. An empty rooftop overlooking the street.

I found myself stuck in the doorway. I was breathing fast and couldn't see straight. I wondered what he felt when he walked up here. Was he nervous? Did he know what he was about to do?

Did I?

Sherlock had already stepped out to the middle of the roof and was searching around in the dark. I didn't know what he was looking for but he had his thinking look going. I walked towards him. Seeing him on the roof where he jumped was making me worried he'd do it again. He'd make me watch again.

I had walked up into him and gripped his shoulder hard. "John?" He didn't flinch away. He put his hand up to my other arm and smiled at me. His pale skin reflected in the moonlight making his cheekbones stand out more. "I won't leave you." I nodded in response.

I had to look away and walk towards the edge. I had to see. He said he wouldn't leave me and I believed him. But him saying that also made the nagging feeling that he wasn't real start to creep back.

The real one left me.

And this was the spot where he did it.

I walked up next to the ledge and looked at the street below. It was so far down. I could see the spot where I had been. I could picture him standing on the ledge, bringing out his phone to call me.

I didn't know what caused me to do it but I got up on the ledge myself. I looked down again. I could see the spot where I found him.

I could see it all.

"John?" A worried voice called from behind me. "What are you doing?"

"I guess I should have thanked him." I yelled over not looking away from the ground.

"For what?"

"I could never forgive him for making me watch but he made me stand there." I pointed to the spot on the street. "I didn't have to see him hit the ground. You know that's part of the reason I thought it was all fake. That I thought he was still alive. I guess I know better now. Who could survive this jump?"

"I could."

I scoffed, not taking my eyes off the ground. "I used to think he could." No one could jump from this height. He couldn't do it.

"You're talking about me."

It had noticed I said 'he' instead of 'you'. I knew what I said.

I was afraid of losing reality on the way over but reality bitch slapped me pretty hard.

"No I'm talking about him."

My gaze was still stuck on the ground. I felt a bit dizzy from the vertigo but I wasn't about to look away. I couldn't look away. I just kept reliving the moment over and over.

"Don't do this John." The worried voice was closer now. I was sure if I looked over it would be standing right next to me on the roof. It wasn't on the ledge though. I would probably lose it if it was.

I was already losing it.

"Oh god, why did you bring me up here?" I could have been happy not knowing what was real. I could have lived in my fantasy world.

"John we can leave. We can leave right now."

It was frantic. I could tell it wanted to rip me down back onto the roof and away from the ledge. It couldn't reach me though. I wouldn't let it touch me. The touch would just confuse me.

"Sherlock is dead."

It was the first time I had said those words out loud. I hadn't really even thought that before. A bit of me always held onto the hope that it was all a lie. I couldn't fool myself now.

"John get down. Right now." I ignored it and kept my stare at the ground. I wasn't crying. I wasn't reacting. I was just replaying over and over. "Get down from there this instant!"

"I couldn't make a perfect him." I spoke as if I couldn't hear it. "You're not him. You're not real." I had to say these things. I had to say them out loud. "I wish you were."

"I'm as real as you make me." But I couldn't make him really real. Not alive. "Get down and look at me. I'm right here."

"You're not enough. I wish you would have stayed away." If these hallucinations stopped earlier then I could have moved on. They didn't stop though. I went past the point of no return. "Just go. Leave me alone." I could feel my eyes start to burn as my voice became stronger. The tears started to stream down and I had to close my eyes. "Go be dead like you're supposed to be."

I didn't hear a reply. I didn't hear anything but my own shaky breath. I opened my eyes to still see the ground below me. My vision was watery but I could still make out the spot. I wanted to memorize it. I needed to remember what was real.

Sherlock was dead.

Where did I go from here?

I didn't know. I had been so happy with my fantasy world. Now I had nothing. There was no one to pick up the pieces of my broken self.

I was utterly alone.

I looked down and saw as a tear fell from my face and flew down through the air. In the dark I couldn't see where it landed. It didn't matter. It came splashing down on the hard concrete all the same.

For a moment it didn't seem so frightening. I really wasn't one for heights but if I fell it would finally be over. The step off would be the most terrifying thing. But then I'd fall. The falling wouldn't be so bad. It'd be over quick. I'd just close my eyes, let the wind rush through my ears, and picture him there. The impact would probably kill me instantly. I wouldn't have to feel pain. It really wasn't the worst way to die. It was all about getting over the nerve of taking that step. And facing the fact that mid-fall I'd probably want to take it back and then there would be the moment when I realized I couldn't. I could get over that though. I'd just close my eyes, picture him there calling me forward, and it'd be over soon.

What was left for me anyway?

I looked down again. Then a whole new wave of realization crashed over me. I couldn't do it. I was a fighter. I was in the army. I was a soldier. It was ingrained into me. I couldn't do this to myself. Not to the people who cared. Mrs. Hudson couldn't deal with clearing out the apartment for both of us. My sister would feel guilty. Lestrade would too. My mother would probably die from grief. And Sherlock. What would he think?

He would be mad at me. No doubt. My copy of him was mad at me for climbing up here. Sherlock would be furious. He would tell me some nonsense about how I was only using a building because I was overcompensating for my height. Some nonsense like that. What he would really be doing would be telling me not to, without telling me not to. He had a knack for doing that. He would also be mad that I did it in the same spot, in the same way. The only copy-cats he liked were serial killers.

I couldn't do it.

I sat down and scooted myself back off the ledge carefully breathing out a sigh when I felt solid roof under my shoes. I turned around and no one was with me. I was utterly and completely alone.

Why did I do it? Why did I make him leave? I knew he wasn't real but what did I have to live for now? He made my life better, these past few weeks were better, and I told him to go away. What was I supposed to do now?

The walk back to the apartment was a slow one. The stress was pressing in on me from all angles and I could feel my leg start to act up. I hadn't needed my cane for three weeks and so I had to walk back without it. I thought of getting a cab but I wasn't sure I could handle it. I wanted the night air to clear my mind.

When I got into the apartment I went straight to the shower. I needed to clear my head. I needed to sort out what to do. I needed something. I needed someone who was no longer there.

The shower really didn't help so I went up to my bedroom. I took the sleeping pills and waited for them to work. I was hopeful he would come back because I took them. There was no such luck that night.

I was alone.

* * *

I woke up and the same thing that had happened before, happened again. A brief few seconds of ignorance and then a crashing wave of memories. The happiness of the past three weeks combined with the reality of the night before. I turned over and tried to go back to sleep.

I regretted telling my hallucination to go be dead every second. It was like losing him all over again. I thought of talking to someone but I didn't want to. I didn't want to have to face this. I wanted it to go away.

I couldn't face it. I couldn't work through it. I wasn't strong enough. And there was no one there to support me.

What was it about Sherlock that made me think this way? Act this way?

He was like no one I had ever known. He meant more to me than I could have explained and based on the way I acted after he was gone, he meant more to me than I understood. I'd just lost him a second time and I was completely lost.

I thought of the past three weeks and all the times I got to pretend he was back. I got to pretend he would allow me to touch him, to sleep next to him. I got to pretend he would touch me back. I knew it wasn't something people who were just friends would do.

But Sherlock was special wasn't he?

He was the best friend I'd ever had and more. He gave me a reason to live. He gave my life a purpose. He was a fantastic man.

Boy was that an understatement.

I had time to think about just what he meant to me. The next few days I called in sick to work and I told Mrs. Hudson I wouldn't be up for visitors. She looked concerned but I told her I was fine.

I spent the first of those days alone in my room. The questions came back. They were the same type of questions as the night I saw my therapist. What would I say to him if I saw him that I hadn't already?

I had had the chance and I blew it. Sure I told him some of the things, well I told my hallucinations, but there was one thing that I was avoiding telling him because I was avoiding telling myself.

It was time I faced how I really felt about Sherlock. I had to face what everyone was telling me to. Now was as good a time as any.

I was adamant with him and everyone around me; I was straight, I was not gay, I was heterosexual. I went over the times I said it in my head. Was I always so defensive? I guessed there was a reason.

Why was I only figuring it out now?

People had said there was a tension between me and Sherlock. I never really saw it, or I avoided it. I put it up to the fact that we were friends. Good friends when Sherlock had never really had one before. We had moments that only made sense to us. I just understood him best and he understood me. He really understood everyone.

I felt protective over him. I always had. I mean I killed for him when I only just met him really. I always told myself I would have done it for anyone. But I knew that wasn't true. I would put myself in front of a bullet for most anyone but to kill? That was something different. I probably would have for many people I knew but Sherlock was practically a stranger at the time.

I guessed I felt something for him then. It was a strong quick friendship that pulled me in and hugged me down. I didn't fight it. Why would I want to?

But did that friendship grow? Is that why I was so broken?

It was different than any other friendship I had ever had. I'd been close with my mates before, especially one from my high school days: Bill. We had been friends for years and years. He had moved away but we still kept in touch now and again. Losing him to moving didn't have nearly the same effect that this was having on me. It was obviously different too. I felt different about Sherlock.

But how did I feel?

It wasn't like I felt for him like I did the women I dated. Though I did tend to care less for them than I should have. I always chose Sherlock over them. He meant more. He needed me. I needed him.

I did need him. He completed my life. How could I not have feelings for him?

There, I admitted it. Yes I finally admitted what I had been skating around. Sherlock was more than a friend, he was more than a random girl, he was more everything. I couldn't help appreciating him for what he was. I guessed it just seeped in a little further than I expected.

It made sense. All the times I waited for his call, jumped to please him, came running for him, got mad whenever someone made fun of him. It was kind of sad really. I was like a lovesick teen with a crush.

I didn't mean to think lovesick but as soon as I did my heart leapt. Lovesick was the perfect word. How could that be possible? Was it possible to love a man who couldn't love you back?

If I was in my right mind I would have been scolding myself, telling myself that I was just reading too far into things. That I was straight and my grief struck mind was making this crush up.

I wasn't in my right mind though and this was more than just a crush. This was something that started long before the grief came. This was something that was there when he was alive.

I had feelings for him. But it wasn't anything sexual was it? I mean I could appreciate his good looks as much as the next fella. I could see how he was attractive with his curly black hair, his calculating blue-gray eyes, his prominent cheek bones, that dark purple shirt. Okay yeah I thought he was attractive. More so than other men. Actually if I was being honest, he was the only man I looked at in that way.

Not that he would look at me in that way. He wouldn't think of me in any of these ways. He couldn't have feelings for me. He didn't have feelings. He couldn't' find me attractive. He was asexual. I was surprised to find out I wished he wasn't and that he did find me attractive.

But he really wasn't truly was he? He had feelings. He was just very good at pushing them away. They hid behind the wall of asshole. I could see it though. I knew when he actually cared. I also could tell he wasn't truly asexual. Married to his work was probably accurate. But he wasn't pure asexual. He did have a thing with Irene Adler didn't he?

I gritted my teeth. I was embarrassed how jealous I was over her. I didn't even know for sure if anything happened. I just knew a beautiful dominatrix had a crush on my Sherlock.

It made me furious.

Who else did he have a thing for?

Everyone said he had a thing for me but I didn't see it like that. Moriarty maybe. It wasn't a sexual thing. They were just on the same playing field. I think he enjoyed that.

Who was I kidding? There was no one to hide it from anymore. I always wanted more from him. I was happy but there was always more under the surface. There was a reason I made my hallucinations keep the physical touch. It was because they would. It was what I wanted from the real thing and my mind let it happen. I wanted it again.

I wanted him to come back. Real or not. I wanted him back. I needed to tell him how stupid I was not to see it. How could I not have seen it? He probably did. He probably knew long ago. Oh god when did he find out?

Being lovesick. But was I really in love? How do you know that sort of thing? Sherlock was different but was that love? He was special. He meant everything to me. Losing him broke me. I wanted him back always. He was always on my mind. Who was I kidding?

I loved Sherlock Holmes.

It only took me a year and a half of living together, living without him for five months, hallucinating his presence, falling out of reality, losing him again, and a day of mental processing to figure it out. I could practically here him in my head.

_Twenty six months John. Took you long enough. _

Though he would probably have it down to the minute. No, second knowing him.

I couldn't' really hear him though. Not outside my thoughts. Because he wasn't there.

Twenty six months of ignorance.

I wanted him back.

* * *

**AN: **I was asked if I like to torture you guys in a review. To that I say "hehehe". Don't worry, it won't all be torture.

Also thank you for the reviews! They make my life :)

I hope this chapter wasn't too jumpy. Of course I will answer any questions.


	7. Chapter 7

I was ashamed of what I did next.

I went to the store and got some more whiskey. Two bottles. I wasn't proud of myself for doing it but I needed him back. He came when I got drunk before. Who was to say it couldn't happen again? I had already called in sick for the next day and Mrs. Hudson knew not to come up so it shouldn't have been a problem.

That night I put in _Ghostbusters_ and drank myself away. I felt slightly silly for doing it, but it was the movie we had watched when he came the first time. I wanted him back. So I drank and I watched and I drank some more.

* * *

Shame is not a feeling anyone likes. I've found that drinking brings it out of people more than most other things. That and old photo albums.

People always hear the stories of what other people did while they were drunk. Embarrassing stories that they learned to laugh over. They laugh because they got over their shame.

With the effects of alcohol, shame doesn't really settle in until the morning after. The embarrassing memories settle in with the horrible headache and nausea. That or if you really had too much, your friends fill in the blacked out gaps. Some friends are better than others, they don't laugh. Just yet. Most do though.

Luckily for me I was alone that night. Lucky wasn't the right word really. I was alone, I was sad, I was desperate, I was depressed. I was drinking for the wrong reason. Even if it didn't seem so wrong at the time. I just wanted him back.

This wasn't going to be one of those nights I could laugh about.

* * *

I got drunk. I still saw nothing. I called out his name a few times, after the movie was over while I was sitting in the dark. I heard nothing.

I went over to his bedroom door but it was still locked. In my drunken state I didn't register where the key was. I knocked but no one answered.

"You can come back."

I wondered about the flat talking to the air around me. And by talking I mean drunkenly rambling. And by wondered I mean stumbled.

"I didn't mean what I said on the roof. I don't want you dead."

I still had no one answer me.

"I never got to tell you something. Do you want to know what that something is?"

Silence.

"I know you do. You hate it when I don't tell you things."

He should have been answering me by now.

"Ironic because you love not to tell me things."

There was still no answer.

"It's about how I feel about you. I bet you already know."

Still no answer.

"Right. Well come to my bed when you want to hear."

I stumbled my way up the stairs and rolled into bed leaving space for him to come.

I fell asleep quick even without the sleeping pills.

I had a vivid dream that night. I dreamt Sherlock was back. He was in my room with me playing his violin telling me to go back to sleep. He was telling me he would be there when I woke up. He was telling me everything would be alright.

Then I woke up and everything was not alright. I had a small hangover and stomachache, as expected, but Sherlock wasn't there. His dream self lied to me. He wasn't in my room. There was no violin in my room. It was all fake.

I went back to sleep.

I wish I hadn't.

I dreamed I was on the ledge again. The storm clouds blocked out the light, there were no people, and I could only see the ground. Sherlock was there looking down with me. I looked over at him and saw he was about to jump. I tried to yell out but no sound was coming out of my mouth. I screamed as loud as I could but he couldn't hear me. I screamed but I didn't make a sound.

I was only able to yell out his name when I saw his coat billow past me and his body fly down towards the ground. I yelled after him but it didn't stop. I didn't see him impact with the ground but I heard it. The deathly crunch of bone hitting pavement. I yelled and yelled and yelled and he didn't get up. He didn't walk away. I stood over the edge now looking down. No one was coming. I had to get to him but I didn't know how. There were no stairs down. The only way down I knew was in front of me. I had to jump after him.

I woke up in a sweat with tears streaming down my face, breathing hard. It all felt so real. I didn't know if it was or not. I didn't' know what had happened. I rubbed my face and looked around and saw I was alone in my room.

Always alone.

I laid back and tried to control my breathing before I went down to get some water.

On my way towards the stairs I grabbed the key to Sherlock's room from my desk. I knew it was pathetic of me but I thought if I peeked inside then maybe I would see him.

He would tell me it was all a dream. I was never on the roof with him. When I screamed he could hear me and he would take it all away.

I drank my water but skipped out on food in favor of lying on the couch. I tried to get the dream out of my head but it was stuck on replay. I couldn't block it from my mind. It was worse than the memory.

I curled up into a ball like he had done so many times before and faced the back of the couch. I stared at a spot on there. There was nothing important about it. I just found myself staring and zoning out.

"Why? Why did you do this? Come back." I whispered out my thoughts. "Come back. Come back. Come back. Come back." I don't know how many times I repeated myself. I was a bit hysterical. I found it soothing just to say it over and over and over, rocking back and forth a bit. Back and forth, over and over.

It was late afternoon when my phone started to ring. I didn't bother to see who it was. I ignored the call and turned off my phone. A few minutes later the phone in the flat started to ring. I was confused at first. I hadn't heard it go off much before. I looked at it on the wall for a few moments. It just kept ringing and ringing. It wouldn't stop. Just ringing, and ringing, and ringing.

I growled at it to stop but it wouldn't. It just kept ringing. Ringing and ringing.

I huffed out in frustration before I ran over to it. For a brief moment I saw red as I grabbed a kitchen chair and slammed it into the phone. There was a loud crunch and the ringing stopped. I was breathing heavy and my head was pounding as I put the chair back and turned towards the living room.

I looked around and the flat was empty. I moved back into the living room and started to pace around, looking at everything that covered the walls. There were so many memories.

When I made my way to the mantle over the fireplace I was drawn to the scull. I wondered if that's what his looked like now. The thought made me sick and I had to look away. As I did so my eyes glanced quick in the mirror hanging overhead.

For a split second I saw him. My heart leapt into my throat because I swore that I saw him standing there looking over at me in the mirror. But when I looked back at the mirror, as fast as I could, he wasn't there. When I turned around, he was nowhere in the room. He wasn't there.

"Trick of the light." I mumbled out to no one.

I went over to his room and slid my hand into my pocket. There I could feel the small, cold metal key residing inside. I pulled it out and slipped the key in the lock, leaning my cane against the wall. I closed my eyes and tried to picture him there reading the newspaper, lying on his bed. I turned the key in the lock and popped the door open.

It was empty.

No one had been in here since the last time I had slept there. That was almost two months ago. Nothing had been touched.

I moved over to where his purple shirt laid over the pillow on the bed. I picked it up and turned around fast. I wanted him to be there yelling at me for touching his things but he wasn't. No one was there. I was alone.

I brought the shirt out to the kitchen with me and I grabbed the whiskey. I left the glass on the counter and just took the bottle with me. I couldn't find a point in doing much else.

I sat on the couch and held the shirt in my hands while sipping from the bottle. I was a mess. I saw no point in the next day. I was alone. I wasn't leading a good life. I wasn't leading a life at all.

Not without him.

I had no control over myself. It was evident in the hallucinations I was having. I didn't even have control over my own mind.

Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe in reality Sherlock was there. Maybe my hallucinations were glimpses of reality. It was better than where I was. But how did I get there?

I drank more.

Briefly I thought I should call someone. But who did I have left to call? I pushed everyone away. I didn't want them then and I really didn't want them now. They wouldn't understand. Besides, I smashed the apartment phone.

I drank more.

Did I even want to be in this reality anymore? If the other one had Sherlock, maybe I should go there. There had to be a way.

I drank more.

My head lulled to the side and I saw the sleeping pills I set out on the table. If he didn't come when I was drunk, maybe he would come if I took those. It happened before.

I reached out and popped open the top. My doctor side told me that it wasn't smart to take these with alcohol. It really, really wasn't. But I didn't listen to him.

I popped back the pills and swallowed them down with a gulp of whiskey.

I was tired of sitting and waiting to see if it would work, so I got up and started to move around. The little sober man in my head said not to cook while drunk but I didn't listen. I wanted to make myself some soup to keep me awake while I waited.

I had some difficulty moving around the kitchen due to how drunk I was, but eventually I got out a pot and put it on the stove with some soup. It took me the longest time to find the can opener and I was sidetracked in the middle of looking for it by a scratch I found on my arm. I didn't remember where it came from or how I got it and I was trying to figure it out. Finally I opened the can and found a spoon to stir it around.

As I waited for it to heat up I played with my spoon, bouncing it off my hand in between my fingers. On one bounce it flew out of my hand and landed across the kitchen table. I walked around to go get it and started to feel the sleeping pills kick in. My vision was getting a bit blurry and I was dizzy but I wasn't going to lie down yet. The soup would wake me up enough to see Sherlock when he came back. I needed to finish it.

I got the spoon and stumbled a bit on the way up. It wasn't anything I couldn't' handle though so I made my way over to the sink to wash it. Another spot of dizziness went through me and my limp leg stumbled under me. I shook it out and tried to take another step but my weight buckled under me.

I was too dizzy to tell which way was up and reached out for the counter bumping into the whiskey bottle and it crashed down on the floor. My hand grabbed the handle of the pot on the stove and it tumbled down over me. With nothing keeping me up I fell down completely. The last thing I felt was the side of my head colliding with the edge of the chair I had used to smash the phone.

Pain, dizziness, then there was black.

* * *

I woke up in a room much brighter than the one I left.

I ached all over but mostly in my head. I opened my eyes carefully and found a white ceiling above me. It wasn't' the same as in the kitchen though. I tried to move my arms but found they were very heavy. My hands flexed and I felt the pinch of a needle in my right one. I looked down and saw an IV. I must have been in a hospital.

Sure enough I heard the ever so reassuring beep of a heart monitor and I felt the plastic of the oxygen tube leading to my nose. I tried to swallow but the pain burned down my throat. It was like I had drunk molten lava. I coughed from the dry ache. I pushed up on the bed and felt a small ache coming from my side. I had no idea what that was from. How did I even get here?

When I was able to sit up I saw the room around me. I was alone. It was a private room. Nothing I would be able to afford. I peeked towards the door and just as I did it opened to show Mrs. Hudson walking through with a cup of tea. She saw me moving and the look of relief on her face was overwhelming. She scuttled over to my bedside sitting down in a chair, which had my cane leaning against it, and pulled my hand into her own.

"John! Oh dear are you alright?"

"Mrs. Hudson." My voice came out very scratchy. "Yeah I'm alright. What happened?"

I already knew but I wanted to know how much she did.

"It seems you passed out on us dear. You know you shouldn't drink when you feel sick."

Right, she thought I had been sick.

"I hope I didn't give you too much of a fright." I ignored the pain in my side and reached over to put my hand over hers. I really hadn't meant to scare her.

"It's alright dear. You're alright now. Would you like some tea?" She lifted the one in her hand and I shook my head slowly. There was a massive headache happening and shaking it made me want to lie down again.

"Ice water would be lovely if you don't mind."

"Of course dear. I'll get your doctor on the way." She left and I cursed myself for forgetting to ask who paid for the room. Mycroft probably. I'd have to thank him. I hated that guy.

Then I looked back to the other corner of the room. I could hear my heart jump on the hear monitor next to me. There he was, as calm and as handsome as ever. He looked just as he had on the rooftop only without the suit jacket, making his purple shirt more visible.

Sherlock was thumbing through a magazine, not actually reading it, waiting for me it seemed. Just as I was about to talk to him the door opened and a nurse came in. He looked young. Probably an intern.

"Hello Dr. Watson, I'm Connor." He picked up my file off the end of my bed and scanned it over.

"Hello Connor."

"Do you know where you are Dr. Watson?" I shook my head. No point in lying. There were a few hospitals around. "St. Bart's," Of course it was. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

He knew very well what happened, he had my chart right there. So, no.

"Had a bit too much to drink."

More like a whole bottle of whiskey. Maybe more. I lost track. A bit too much might have been an understatement.

"You showed signs of alcohol poisoning. We had to pump your stomach."

That explained the ache in my throat.

"Your landlady found you passed out covered in soup with glass stuck in your side. You have minor first degree burns and a couple of stitches for the cuts."

Well that was embarrassing. It explained the pain in the side though.

"She called the ambulance. She also found these."

He held up the prescription sleeping pills. I didn't know where he got them from.

"Did you take them while drinking?"

He knew perfectly well. I didn't answer.

"I don't have to tell you Dr. Watson that you shouldn't drink while taking prescription sleeping pills."

I nodded my head at him. I didn't need to be lectured by an intern.

"You hit your head and have a concussion."

That explained the rippling headache.

"We would like to keep you overnight for observation."

Observation for the head injury or suicide watch? Either way, "I can't afford that."

"It's been paid for already."

Mycroft.

"Someone will be in to bring you you're pain meds and I'll be back to see how you are in a couple of hours."

"Thanks."

He left the room and I turned to the other man lounging out on the chair. He didn't seem to be paying much attention. It didn't interest him. I loved him for it.

"Sherlock?" I whispered, keeping my eye on the door. I didn't get a response and I started to panic but one look over and I could see him there in the chair. "Sherlock?" No response. "Sherlock what's wrong?" He glared at me and crossed his arms over his chest. He turned away from me lounging his legs over the side of the chair. "Are you mad at me?" The glare over his shoulder said he was. "Why are you mad?"

"Do I have to explain?"

I sighed in relief at the sound of his voice. "Yes it appears you do."

"Well which would you rather have? The fact that you told me to go be dead or that you nearly killed yourself just to get me back?"

"Why are you back?" I was happy he was but nothing I did worked. Why would he come here now? He glared at me again. "If the drinking and the pills didn't work, what did?"

"You're a doctor John, figure it out."

I looked at him confused for a bit before running over what happened in my head. "Concussion." Of course.

"Psychological adjustment problems are a side effect. Why not hallucinations?"

"I guess I'd already been showing signs of that."

"Way to catch up John."

"You're such a bastard."

I full out smiled at him. He glared at me a bit more but I saw a smile pulling at his lips.

"So if you nearly killed yourself to talk to me there must be a good reason. What is it?"

"Come here."

I moved over on the bed as best as I could. I found the buttons on the side and pushed the one that would raise the back up so I could sit better. Sherlock glared yet again but did as I said. I patted the bed and he sat. I felt butterflies start in my stomach. It seemed so silly to get them. I knew it really wasn't Sherlock after all but I still needed to tell him. I needed to tell some version of him.

Sherlock was looking at me with squinted eyes. He was deducing me. I could see and feel it. I waited for him to speak first.

"So you finally figured it out?" Smugness. Ugh, it was infuriating. He couldn't let me have my moment could he?

"Are you going to let me say it?"

"So this is why you almost killed yourself? To tell me this? This is what sentiment does to people. It drives them to insanity."

I grabbed his hand from the air and brought it down to my side wrapping my other hand around it.

"I'm pretty sure I was already insane." I got him on that one. I caught him smile at me. "So I guess I can just say it right?"

"Oh will you get on with it?" He sounded annoyed but I could see the twinkle in his eyes.

"Well I've been thinking-"

"There's a first."

"Will you be quiet?"

"Fine go on. You've been thinking."

"And I realized something." The butterflies wouldn't stop as I looked up at him. "Sherlock, you meant more to me then you will ever know. You were more than just my best friend, you were my life. I don't know how to live without you and I wish you could have stayed with me." He probably hated how sappy I was being. But I couldn't help myself. It was how I felt. "I wish I could have figured this out sooner. Then maybe you wouldn't have left. Maybe you would have stayed." I ran my other hand over his arm and back. I could feel my face start to blush. I was such a girl. "I love you Sherlock. As crazy as it is, I do. I'm the idiot who fell in love with you."

He was looking down at me with a small half smile. "Well you have the idiot part right."

"Sher-" He held up a hand in mock surrender.

"You're an idiot," he grabbed onto my other hand with his, "for not realizing that I love you too. Though your observation is lacking."

Alright I hadn't expected that. I full out blushed then and those butterflies made my heart jump. I guess it was what I needed to hear though if my subconscious was saying it to me.

I knew it wasn't really him that felt that way. It was really me telling me I loved myself in a way. I didn't care though. It came from his lips. It was in his voice. It was everything I wanted and more.

I pulled on his hand and he leaned over and I wrapped him up in my arms. Pulling away he planted a kiss on my forehead and we both turned to the monitor when we heard my heart ping. We caught eyes and laughed at the same time. I loved those moments.

Then Mrs. Hudson walked back in. She had a cup of water for me and she sat down in the chair next to my bed.

"Here you are dear."

"Thank you." I took it and drank greedily. Peeking over the cup I could see that Sherlock did not disappear. He had a finger over his lips in the universal sign of _shh_ meaning he wasn't going to speak and I shouldn't acknowledge him. It was comforting to know he would be there. He kept a hand in mine and I left mine open for him to hold. I could feel him and see him, though I was sure Mrs. Hudson could only see my hand.

"I think you should know dear. I called your sister and that detective. They said they'd visit tomorrow. They seemed very worried about you."

Oh hell.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson. I appreciate it."

I needed to talk to them anyway.

"No problem. Oh and you should know the room is paid for."

Did I dare ask?

"By who?" I did.

She gave me a sad smile when she said his name, "Mycroft Holmes."

Of course.

"I'll be sure to thank him."

She smiled at me. I didn't think she knew what really happened. I didn't think they told her they pumped my stomach. I'd have to thank them for that.

I talked to her a bit longer, thanking her for calling the ambulance and then changing the subject, before pretending to be too tired for company. The nurse, Connor, had come in to give me my pain meds around the same time. She didn't make a fuss. She just left and I promised to visit when I was released the next day.

When she left and we were alone I faced Sherlock again. He had been very good in not making too many sarcastic faces or distracting me while talking to her.

"Morphine is one of the only good things about hospitals." Sherlock said rubbing my hand with his own as he looked over my monitors.

"You don't like hospitals?"

"I like hospitals. The labs, the equipment, the bodies. I don't like to be in one though. To many live people, poking at you."

"I guess I could see that from you. You realize I have to thank your brother now?"

"Oh please you don't need to thank him. This probably doesn't make the slightest dent. It doesn't faze him. He doesn't care. He's just doing out of some obligation to me." I kept my eyes on the door while he spoke. I half expected someone to come in any moment to check on me and find me talking to thin air. "You could pretend to sleep."

"What?"

"If someone catches you talking to me. Pretend to sleep. Sleep talking. It will keep you out of the loony bin. I assume that's what you're scared of. Being forced to get help."

I could just picture the look on someones face if they came in and saw me talking to the air. My overnight stay would turn into an extended one. Then everyone would really be worried about me.

"You're going to be the death of me you know that?" I mused as I looked over at him.

"I believe that has become excruciatingly clear."

His face turned somber and I looked at our hands entwined. I smiled. I had finally told him.

I finally told him but it wasn't really him.

"It's not fair."

"Most things aren't."

"I finally figure out how I feel and _you're_ the one I get to tell. You're not even real. Not that I don't appreciate it though. It's just…"

"You wish I were him."

"Yeah. I guess I just realized what this means."

"I do know, but I get the feeling you want to tell me. Go ahead."

"I can't keep doing this to myself. They were right. I'm drowning in you. I can't let you kill me." I may not have been trying to kill myself but I still did a very stupid thing that got me put in a hospital. I looked around at the room with a frown. "He would never forgive me. Or at least I think he wouldn't." He wouldn't like it but that didn't mean he wouldn't understand the logic. And that logic was exactly what I needed to get rid of. "Will you still answer any question I have?"

"That is what I said I would do."

I sighed, knowing what I had to ask. I had asked the question before but I knew it was different this time.

"So is this really the last time I'll see you? Ever?"

"Yes. I believe so."

The weight started to sink back in on my chest. I knew it had to come at some point. I couldn't live in a fantasy world. I couldn't' kill myself. The reality was in my nightmares. I knew it and it hurt.

"I'm going to miss you." He could read between the lines. He knew how heavy that statement was because for the first time I wouldn't be seeing him and I knew it would be never again.

For the first time I meant it. I didn't want him to come back. I couldn't have him come back. I couldn't need him anymore.

"I'm going to miss you too. As silly as it is, I'll always be part of you. In here." He tapped at my head which still hurt even with the painkillers. "And here." He tapped my chest.

"You know, it's talking like that that makes it clear you're not really him." That didn't mean it didn't make me smile. The pain in my chest was still there but I could smile.

"I just want to give you what you need."

"I know." I squeezed his hand and tilted my head back.

I was very tired. I think it was a side effect of getting my stomach pumped and the medicine. The food they brought me was still on the small table. They told me to take it because pain killers on an empty stomach weren't good. I probably should have eaten sooner. I reached forward and took a few bites of the terrible food but gave up due to the irritating feeling of swallowing.

"You should sleep." Sherlock said moving some lint off my sheets and standing up next to the bed.

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

"I'll be with you until tomorrow night."

"That's very specific." I leaned back and fixed the bed so I could lay down properly.

"It's your brain John. I can't help it if it's learned to do something useful."

"Oh shut up." I laughed and closed my eyes, trying to get comfortable with the ache in my side.

"I'll play for you so you'll stay asleep."

"You have your violin?" I couldn't see from my angle. He responded by playing the opening notes to some song from across the room. I closed my eyes and listened to the music as it lulled me to sleep.

That night was filled with being woken up and allowed to sleep again. Doctors or nurses would come in to check and make sure I had a fast wake up rate before allowing me to sleep again. I was just glad they were allowing me to sleep. It had only been recently found that with concussions sleep could be allowed as long as the patient was responsive and not throwing up. I was glad I wasn't doing that. I don't' think I could stomach it.

Every time a nurse woke me I would see and hear Sherlock next to my bed on the chair playing a song for me. Every time I would fade back into a pleasant sleep with no nightmares.

I relished in it because I knew it would probably be the last time I would have a sleep like that.

I was moving on with my life. For the first time, I believed it to be true.

* * *

**AN: **Fun fact, this wasn't originally going to be a Johnlock. But I mean_ come on_. How could it not?

So I gave you some mercy fluff. That's about as fluffy as I get.

More chapters to come!

Also the 3rd season tease is out on YouTube. Don't watch it if you want the illusion of this fic actually being a possibility to stand. But if you do watch it, you need to get on my team for _John shave your mustache_. If there is such a team. I'm sorry, I don't like mustaches.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry was first to visit me.

I had woken up already and was talking with Sherlock lying next to me on my bed before she came. It was a tight fit but he was skinny enough to do it. I was trying to talk to him as much as I could. I wanted to spend every second I could with him. He would soon disappear.

She walked into the room and she looked pretty damn pissed. I guessed I couldn't blame her.

"Hi Harry."

"Oh no. Don't you Hi Harry me. What were you thinking?"

Yes she was pissed.

"Apparently I wasn't."

"No that's right you weren't. I mean really John? Drinking yourself to death?" Her anger soon passed on into concern. She walked over and sat next to me in the chair taking the hand Sherlock didn't already have. "Isn't that my thing?"

"Don't joke like that Harry. This was an accident. I wasn't trying to kill myself."

"But you almost did. You do understand that don't you?"

"I had a real bad day Harry." I couldn't look at her. I felt the tears prickling behind my eyelids and I had to blink several times at the ceiling. Sherlock squeezed my hand as I did so.

"John. Please." Then Harry squeezed my hand. "You have to get help."

"I know. And I am." Or at least I planned to. "Actually I was hoping you would help a bit."

"Yeah?" I could tell she wasn't trying to get her hopes up too much.

"I'm not ready to leave the apartment. Not yet. But could you help me pack up his stuff? I want to give it to his family."

I could hear Sherlock huff near my ear. It was one of the things we talked about. I couldn't have his things laying around but I didn't want to get rid of them. I couldn't throw them out. His argument was that Mycroft would just throw them out anyway.

"Of course." Harry smiled at me. "I'll stay in the city for a few days to help out."

"Thank you."

After that we talked a bit more about where she would stay. She told me what she had been up to in the past two months since I hadn't seen her. She had a new girlfriend who seemed to be doing good things for her. She had been sober for almost a month and a half now. She was doing good. I was happy for her.

She left late in the afternoon to go and make accommodations for her stay and to get some of her things. She lived about an hour and a half from the city and needed to get back to her place and to a hotel by the night. She wanted to help me as soon as the hospital let me out. I asked her to stay with me but she didn't want either of us sleeping on the couch. I was glad she said nothing about Sherlock's bedroom.

* * *

I talked to Sherlock a bit more. We watched some TV to pass the time and he was making fun of the soap opera that was on. I didn't even watch it but it was just fun to see him poking fun. He was very amusing to watch.

"Identical twins! These morons! Can they not tell the difference between the scarring on the good twin and the lack of scar on the evil? Idiots!" I laughed at Sherlock yelling at the screen until I saw who was in the doorway.

"Molly?" I was completely shocked. She looked the same. Just as meek and nervous as ever. She shuffled her way into the room with her hands behind her back. I hadn't seen her since before Sherlock's death. This was a complete shock.

"Hello John." She gave a shy smile and my mouth gaped open. Of course, she worked here, she must have known I would be here.

"Hi. Um…Come in. How've you been?" She made her way over to the chair but didn't sit down. That was good because that was where I imagined Sherlock was sitting. He looked her over but didn't say anything. She was smiling at me but I could see she was trying to hide something; pity. I was getting that a lot though. Everyone thought I tried to kill myself. I guessed I shouldn't put it past Molly too.

"I've been okay. You?"

"I've been doing fine." Well that was an awkward answer. It was obviously a lie due to the fact that I currently had an IV in my arm.

"Good. Good. Um John?" She moved her hand shyly and placed it over the one Sherlock didn't have. I didn't know how people knew which one to hold but I wasn't complaining. "You were closer to him than any of us were. I don't think people understood just how close." I could hear a bit of jealousy in her voice but it was outweighed with concern. "It was hard for all of us but I think it was hardest on you. I want you to know that I'm here to talk to. I'm probably not your first choice but I'm here."

Molly was such a sweet soul. Everyone else who had said that to me or something along those lines I would just get mad at about it. But not her. I was actually grateful. "Thank you Molly. That means a lot."

She nodded before saying she had to head back down to work. I thanked her again and was left alone with Sherlock. He was looking after her when she shut the door.

"I can't believe you were always such an ass to her." I said looking over at him, looking at the door.

"Sometimes I can't either." I chuckled and returned my attention to the TV screen.

* * *

A few hours later and Lestrade made his way through the door. He didn't look too happy. Well actually he looked more uncomfortable than anything.

"Hey John." He pushed the door close behind him and stood by it awkwardly. Sherlock moved to sit next to me on the bed, grabbing my hand like he always did.

"Hello Greg."

"So you bumped your head?"

"That I did."

Lestrade shifted uncomfortably and there was a bit of an uncomfortable silence. I shifted myself on the bed trying to sit up more.

"You gave Mrs. Hudson quite the scare."

"Yeah. I was sorry about that." That guilt started to creep up again. She of course said it was fine but I would still feel bad. I'd have to apologize again when I saw her.

"She actually called me, before when you said not to visit because you were sick. She was worried about you. I was worried when you didn't answer my calls."

"That was you?"

Cell phone. Apartment phone. Chair to apartment phone.

"Yeah. I called her when you didn't answer and that's when she went up to check on you. She found you in the kitchen."

"Oh."

Another uncomfortable silence.

"Well how you've been?"

"I was doing fine until…" I drank myself to the point of alcohol poisoning, took sleeping pills, fell on a whiskey bottle, poured hot soup over myself, and smashed my head against a chair. "You?"

"Fine. Fine. Divorce went through a month ago."

And I wasn't there for that. "Sorry about that."

"It's alright. I've been moving on."

"I wasn't." He seemed taken aback by my confession. But I could tell it also made him happy.

"But you are now?"

"Yeah actually." I could feel Sherlock making small circles on the inner part of my arm. It took a lot not to look over at him. "I guess I just had to hit rock bottom."

"Well I'm glad. Well obviously not glad but-"

"It's alright Greg. I know what you mean."

"Good."

"I was actually clearing out the apartment this weekend. Harry is coming to help. I'm not sure if you have it free but-"

"I'd love to help. You moving then?"

"No. I'm not quite ready for that." He nodded at me. There was another moment of silence. I just kept running through the fight we had had. I was kind of surprised he actually showed up to the hospital. "You know, I never apologized. For the last fight we had I-"

"Don't worry about it."

"Alright. I am sorry though."

"Me too. I probably could have handled that better."

"Me too."

I went through my mind searching for something to talk about. I felt like he wanted to ask about me but he could tell I didn't really want to talk about it. I could ask about what he'd been doing but I didn't know if that would back to me.

"So…caught the last rugby match yet?"

And he saved us both. We started talking and he walked over to sit down in the chair next to mine. We talked about other things for a while before he went out to get some dinner.

* * *

I got discharged and made my way back to 221B. Sherlock was with me the entire way. It made it easier to get home because I was still not feeling that great physically. Emotionally neither.

The hospital said to let them know if any concussion symptoms came back and they gave me some painkillers and antibiotics. They circled the _don't take with alcohol _for me.

That last night with Sherlock we spent together in a way I couldn't beat. Well it might have been better to go chase after criminals but in my condition we couldn't do that. So next best thing. I made a fire, he played his violin, and I read while sipping tea.

It was a perfect night.

I had to go to bed at some point though. I made my way up the stairs and crawled into my bed leaving enough room for him too. I made sure to lay on the side without the stitches and turn off any alarm. I had already let work know what happened so I didn't have to worry about coming in till next week. They just counted this week as a vacation for me. They were very understanding. I'd have to thank Sarah.

As I lay there he rubbed his hand on my arm and spoke in his low baritone voice. Something about poetry. After a while, I didn't want to talk anymore. I didn't want to ask any more questions. I didn't know what to say or ask. He already knew everything. I had gone through and asked him every question that popped into my head at the hospital. There were no more things to say. Everything I wished I could have told him but didn't get the chance to say was said.

How do you say goodbye to a person you know you'll never see again?

"Sherlock?"

"Yes John."

"I love you."

"I love you too," I felt him whisper in my ear as I closed my eyes and fell into sleep.

* * *

The next day I woke to an empty room. It was depressing but this time I accepted it. I didn't look out of the corner of my eye for him. I didn't try. I just accepted it.

I called my therapist and scheduled my first appointment. I didn't want to have to talk about it but I wasn't going to move on unless I did. I wasn't about to talk to Mrs. Hudson, Harry or Lestrade about hallucinations, so therapist it was. I could have talked to Molly. She would probably understand but at the same time she seemed so innocent. I didn't know if she could understand. As much as I hated therapy, it seemed like the only option.

With the rest of the day I started to pack up what things were left. What was most hard was his purple shirt and violin. I decided not to put those in with the things to pack away. I couldn't stand the thought of giving it away or Mycroft throwing them away. I still didn't believe he actually would but I couldn't chance it. I put them upstairs with my things.

That weekend Harry and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson all helped to pack. Lestrade had Mycroft's information and let him know the stuff was coming. Mycroft didn't seem affected by it in any way. It didn't matter. I put in a small note that simply said thank you with his things. It was for the apartment rent and for the hospital room. I never heard a reply. I didn't expect one.

It took all weekend but everything was gone, minus the furniture in the living room. It was hard to face an empty flat like that. I thought of moving again but I just didn't think I could face it yet. I couldn't' give up everything.

* * *

Over the next few weeks I went to my therapist and went to work. I started my life again. I told the therapist everything that happened. She said she wished I'd come to her sooner but I ignored that. She wanted to give me meds but I really didn't feel like taking them. I knew the side effects and I wasn't sure I could face them. We settled on a low dose of an antidepressant. They still gave me that zombie-like feel but they were helping so I lived with it.

Work went much better than I had expected. I guessed it was because I kept busy. I stopped ignoring people and even made plans to go out on more than one occasion. People started to warm up to me again and ignored my little spat from the past. I kept up my communication with my sister. We called at least once a week just to catch up. Lestrade was the same. We talked more and went to the pub on the weekends. I wouldn't drink. Having your stomach pumped can really take the fun out of it. Mrs. Hudson stuck around more on her visits. I took it both as concern and as my behavior being better. My social life had started up again. I wasn't alone.

The nightmares were still there but they were less and less frequent. I put that to the antidepressant. It also helped that I wrote down some things. I didn't start up my blog but I created documents in a sort of journal on my computer. They were a good way to vent without having to worry about who would see.

My life was finally starting to get back on track.

* * *

That was until the fourth weekend.

I was supposed to go out to the pub with Lestrade that night. Just an easy night with no problems. I guess not everything goes as planned.

It was getting dark out and I had just finished eating dinner and taking my pill when there it was, standing there in the kitchen doorway looking at me.

There was anxiety all over its features. It looked like it had been running again. It looked a lot like the others; dark circles under eyes, skinnier, messy hair. It was dressed different though. It wore a black pull over sweatshirt and jeans. It actually looked kind of funny. It looked good but so out of character. I might have laughed if I wasn't so damn mad.

"No." It looked over at me completely confused. "You said you weren't coming back."

"John?" It started to walk towards me and I avoided its touch and moved back to the kitchen sink.

"Ugh! I was doing so well you know that?" Every emotion at seeing another hallucination I could have expected, happened. I was a little more prepared because of my therapy sessions but that didn't stop the pain in my chest. "Why are you here? I haven't done a thing. Why are you possibly here?"

"John what are you talking about?" It gave me a panicked look this time. Then it quickly went into its thinking pose. Another pang went through my chest. Why did they have to look so life-like?

"I'm sorry but I don't want you here." I didn't yell. I was just firm and in control. _I_ was in control. "I've picked up my life again. You can't be here."

It kept studying me for a moment longer.

"You don't think I'm real."

I rolled my eyes at it and started to make tea. If I was going to deal with this, I needed something to ground me. I only had a bit before Lestrade was to meet me. I could hold out till then. If it followed after me or showed up when I got back I'd call my therapist to see what to do. As much as I didn't like her, since I started seeing her again the visions did go away. Not the nightmares but the visions.

"Because you're not real."

"Yes I am."

"Oh so we're playing that game again?" I started to get mad again. I just didn't want to deal with this. I thought I already had.

"I'm as real as you are."

"Well then I must be dead. When did I die again?"

"Sarcasm will not move this forward John. You're not dead, I'm not dead. We are both very much so alive."

"Right. I've just gone mad. Again. Almost four weeks. A full month. I think that's longest yet."

I brought my tea into the living room. My limp was still there. I took that as a good sign I wasn't being sucked into my fantasy reality. I could still feel its eyes watching me.

"You've seen me before. More than once."

"Oh don't pretend you don't know."

I didn't know what to do. We hadn't covered this. Was I supposed to engage with it like this? Was I supposed to ignore it? Maybe I could make it disappear.

"What are you doing?"

It was annoyed. Good.

"Closing my eyes. When I open them you'll be gone." I peeked them open but he was still there. Okay, try and try again then. I closed them again.

"John-" I felt it move over to stand by my feet. I took a sip of tea.

"Not real. Not real." Maybe if I said it out loud enough it would work.

"John."

"Not real!"

"John!"

Oh it was getting pissed now. Maybe I could make it so mad it wouldn't stay.

"Not real. Not real."

"John!"

"Not real!"

"John!"

"Not real! Not real!"

"JOHN!"

"What?!" I popped my eyes open but it was still standing in front of me. I stared at it a bit longer before taking a long sip of my tea. This was going to be a tough one.

"There really is no point in talking to you when you're like this." It poked me in the shoulder. "See there. I touched you. You can feel I'm real. So we'll stop with the-"

I couldn't help laughing out loud. "Oh please. We've done this already. Listen to me I'm talking to you. I probably shouldn't do that."

"We've done what already?"

"All this. Going from the beginning again? You already told me the answer, there's no point in trying now. You already told me my mind was working on a subconscious level, that I wouldn't be able to comprehend because I'm so stupid or idiotic or some other insult. You said even a dull brain like mine could create things, create you, and make you as real as if you weren't- as if he weren't gone._ 'I'm as real as you make me.'_" I tried mocking the low tone of its voice. "Or are you doing it different this time?"

"See, now that's the difference. Your brain isn't dull. I wouldn't say that."

"Yes you would."

"No I would say you were idiotic, but your brain is not dull. You simply don't know how to use it."

I sighed. "You are just trying to be him again. That's it. I'm ignoring you. Either disappear or whatever it is you always do because I'm done talking to you."

"That's great. Very mature John." I drank my tea and tried to concentrate on the pattern of the wall. "John? John? Are you really ignoring me?" Its face came into view as it crouched down in front of my chair. "I'm not some ghost. I'm not just going to go away." Again its eyes passed over me. "Call someone! Bring them over, show me to them. You'll see they can see me too."

Oh it would love that. I bet it was just bitter with me for not needing it for so long. It just wanted to embarrass me. We left on such good terms too. It was painful to think of it. I continued to ignore it.

"But do try to make it someone we know. I don't need a stranger leaking to the press that I'm back."

O great, that story again. I found myself more bitter with the fabricated lies than before. I was doing better, I didn't need my mind messing it up.

"You're not going to. Why not?" It started to walk around and inspect the flat. I had managed to decorate it some with my own things but it was still pretty bare. "By the state of this place I do say Mrs. Hudson hasn't gone anywhere. She still checks in on you quite frequently. Oh but she's at her sisters isn't she?"

I wasn't about to answer. I continued to sip my tea.

"I'll take your silence as a yes. So if not her then Molly, Lestrade ? What was that tension?"

Damn my subconscious.

"Someone's coming over. Not Molly. Molly wouldn't be one to come over here for you. Not unless you were dating and that is obviously not true. So Lestrade. He's on his way over isn't he?"

I didn't answer. It walked over to me looking me up and down as it started off like it always did.

"A Saturday night ritual is it now? You two had a fight. You patched things up and make up for it by going to the pub every weekend. You don't always look forward to it. Based on the lack of beer cans and emptiness of the liquor cabinet you don't drink. You don't want to cancel though because it was your fault. But what about? A case? No why would you be working on a case. His personal life? Not unless you were dating his wife...oh no, ex wife. Which your morals are too good for that. Plus she is a known cheater, not up your ally. So what else could you have in common?

"Me. The fight was about me. Based on the fact that my things were not cleared out until recently I could say the fight was about your hallucinations. You said the last one happened a month ago. The fight was before that. Perhaps he found out how bad you were doing and confronted you. You struck out at him, making the fight your own. So you go out with him instead of inviting him here suggesting that is where the fight took place.

"You don't invite many people here. In fact Mrs. Hudson is the only person to come in, that is since the move of my things. You haven't had a date. You haven't been looking. If you had there would be the smell of a woman's perfume on your best jumper, to which you are wearing, or a trace of her hair somewhere. There is not. If you tried you could get a woman but you do not feel you are ready for a relationship. You were never a one-night-stand man. Well you were in your army days but you have since grown. I could go on but I'm afraid you've stopped listening."

"Brilliant." I said sarcastically.

"Are you not going to ask how I-."

"No not you, me. My brain has never been that good with deductions. Or at least not that specific. I just deduced the hell out of myself."

"You couldn't have. I am the only one that can do that. Now as I have begrudgingly repeated myself, I am real, I am here. Now stop being an idiot!"

It seemed its deduction was not enough to keep it happy. It was getting mad again. I closed my eyes to see if the trick would work but as soon as I opened them I could still see him there.

"Why are you not disappearing? You're just as annoying as he was." I got up to put my cup in the sink. Lestrade would be over any minute now.

"I'm not leaving John. I am staying until your tiny brain comprehends I'm real!"

"Bloody hell. Fine. Stick around. I'm not talking to you though."

"I believe you just were."

"Shut up."

I decided to wait for Lestrade with some TV. Anything to tune out the hallucination. I texted Lestrade quick to say to call when he arrived. With any luck I could get out without him realizing I was having an episode. The hallucination watched me but didn't say anything. It just glared.

"Another fine night watching brain numbing television. Fantastic. Really John even you know there are better uses of your time. At least watch the news. If you're not going to talk to me I'm going to need a case to work on. Anonymously," It huffed. "That brings up a fine point. I'll just call Lestrade myself. John, hand me your phone. I'm afraid I don't have one at the moment." Not this again. It held out its hand expectantly. "John?" It reached forward and patted down my front pockets.

"Hey! Whoa!" Normally if I was accepting of my hallucination I wouldn't mind the touch. Actually since realizing my feelings, I kind of missed having someone hold me. But I didn't want this touch. "You can't have it alright?" It reached over again and I felt like a kid playing keep away. I spun around and pushed away until I walk half hanging off the couch. "I said no alright!" It glared at me but sat back looking around the room.

"And you broke the landline. With the kitchen chair? Really John."

"It was ringing."

"From what I understand, tradition dictates that you answer with a hello, not with the back of a piece of furniture."

"Since when have you been one to follow tradition? Since when has _he_?" Dammit it caught me. "He."

"You can say you. I know what you mean. And yes I must agree. It does seem like something I would do." His gaze went back to the flat. I looked at it out of the corner of my eyes. The sweatshirt was really throwing me. I half expected it to change into a suit any moment. "You haven't been online in a while. You stopped working on your blog."

"Is there a point to this?"

"With the way you fill your life no wonder your limp has come back. But not continuously I see. Has seeing me caused it to go away? When you picture me does the limp disappear?" He picked up the cane next to my legs on the floor. "The cane is not run down enough-"

"You know it's not really impressive when I already know everything you're saying."

"And therein lies my problem in proving I am real. You will only see the parts of me that you think you are projecting. In deducing you I am telling you things you already know. If I tell you things you don't know you will still think it is your mind making it up. Including how I faked my own death. I'm sure you've already come up with ideas for that. Physical actions will not prove it to you. Therefore, we must wait for Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson. When does she return?"

"Another two days yet."

As soon as I said that my phone started to ring. I jumped up and ran out the door before it could follow me. I was glad to see Lestrade outside my door with a phone to his ear. No hallucination in sight.

"Ready to go?" Lestrade asked.

"Definitely." I answered as we walked away from the flat. I refused to look back at it to see if I could see him in the window. I didn't want to know and I didn't want to see.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN**: Your reviews make me love life. Like you have no idea. Never have I gotten so many loving death threats. I hope I can live up to them.

On a side note - I did. I made a facebook page called _John Watson Shave Your Mustache. _If you feel so inclined, you can find it at (www.) (facebook) (.com) (/) (shaveyourface) -without the ()s. Just so you can trick yourself into thinking he'll actually shave.

TO THE STORY!

* * *

The pub was fine but I was a little anxious. I half expected to see the hooded version of my hallucination sitting somewhere in the building drinking away. The later in the night though, the more I believed it was just an unhappy but singled out event.

I took a taxi home and came to an empty flat. I was very happy about that. I just wanted some sleep.

I went to the bathroom to shower and came out to see it near Sherlock's bedroom in the sweatshirt and jeans combo. God did that look good.

Why was it near the bedroom? Was it trying to make me think it came out of there? It couldn't have come from the there because I had locked it back up when we got rid of this things. They key was in my room.

"Oh how wonderful." I greeted it with a fake smile. "I'm going to bed. Do try to wiggle your way back into my subconscious while I'm sleeping would you?"

"I was right. You're not limping as much." It started to follow me up the stairs. It was true, I wasn't limping as much. I cursed myself for it. "Where shall I stay?"

"Well you're not real so I really don't care."

"But John I'm tired."

It was whining now. Great.

"See, you aren't real."

"As much as you would like to believe I am running on robotic parts, I am indeed human. I do get tired on occasion. It has been a long trip here and unfortunately my body-"

"Yeah, yeah I get it. Tired. Again, not real. Don't care. I'm going to bed."

"I suppose my own bed would due. That is if you haven't gotten rid of it along with-" I pushed into my bedroom slamming the door in its face. Then I heard it follow me. This one was just not taking no for an answer.

"Huh. I've never had one follow me to bed before."

I couldn't have put more sarcasm into that.

"You're lying."

Well this one was just a genius wasn't it?

"Can't lie to myself I see."

I was dealing the best I could. It was a strange situation. I was trying not to feel the loving attachment I had for the real man towards this unreal thing. It was one of the things we had gone over in therapy. It took having the hallucinations to realize I was in love with Sherlock but it didn't mean I was in love with the hallucinations. I had to keep myself emotionally distant.

It was hard when they looked exactly the same though.

"It's happened more than once." I ignored it and slid in under the covers. "Your bed. One side dips in more. You sleep on that side every night. There is no reason to. Your bed is not big enough to choose a side. It is not the optimum place for comfort. You sleep there to make room for someone else. And as you have not dated anyone in a long time I can assume that place is reserved for someone not real. Someone like the hallucinations you have of me. Interesting. Putting the pillow over your head will not make me go away."

I had indeed pulled the pillow over my head to muffle his voice. I didn't need to be reminded of the intimacy I had with my hallucinations. I was really trying not to think of it already.

Then a miracle happened. I heard it shuffle around my desk a bit then leave the room and shut the door behind it. Maybe I had gotten rid of it. I wouldn't think about it till morning though. There was no need. I just let myself sleep.

* * *

"Morning, or afternoon rather." It was there in the kitchen looking at the paper. I groaned at the sight of it.

It was still wearing that sweatshirt and jeans combo. In the light I could see how pale it really was. It was much more pale than the other ones. It looked skinnier too. About as skinny as the first. His hair was shaggy too. Definitely more life-like. My brain really hated me.

"Oh god. I had hoped you were a dream." I started to make myself breakfast, making sure I only made it for myself and not for it too. "What's with those clothes by the way? Are you experimenting a new look to see if I'm more accepting?"

"My regular garments were not acceptable for where I was staying. Also, no one recognizes me in _these_." It sounded disgusted as it pulled at the jeans on its legs.

"Oh right. No media. Gotcha." I didn't think there was a way I could not talk to it sarcastically. I could feel its eyes digging into me but it didn't respond to my comment.

"So what has your simple mind planned out for today?" It decided to pipe in and ask instead.

"I thought I'd go by the shop. I need to pick up some food for the week. And why am I answering you?"

I was more asking myself than it, but it still answered me.

"Because you have someone to talk to John."

The way it said it...I knew it was true. I had people now, I wasn't alone, but I didn't have Sherlock. I didn't have my fake versions of him. I missed him and I missed them. How could I ignore one sitting right in front of me?

"I thought I was doing better than this." I ran a hand through my hair and reached down to fish out my phone.

I probably wasn't supposed to be talking to it. My therapist wouldn't be in her office on the weekend though, so I couldn't ask. There was the emergency line but I didn't want to call it unless I needed to. I could wait a day.

"You gave in to others. It's easy to fall back into habit."

"You keep talking as if you're not one of them."

"Because I am not. I'm real."

"You're probably the most adamant." I ran over all the others in my mind quick. It was impossible to forget them, especially after writing it all down. I relived each moment over and over. Some moments stuck out more than others. "No, the second one was. He was very pushy. Very angry. Very dramatic and emotional."

"I'm not emotional."

"Oh please." I laughed at it.

Not emotional? What was it trying to prove?

"I cannot stand this John!" It pushed up off the table and threw the newspaper down. Was it trying to prove my point? "Tonight we will sneak out and someone will acknowledge my existence without knowing who I am. I will wear a disguise!"

"Yeah, not dramatic at all."

I peeked over at it as I sipped from the tea I made. It didn't look happy I said that, and that made me smile.

"Call Lestrade after your therapist. Make him come over now."

"How did you- Never mind. Stupid question. Very, very stupid question. And I'm not bothering him over this."

It slammed its hands down on the table.

"Molly then."

"No I'm not bothering anyone."

"Ugh," It groaned. It ran its hands through its hair and threw them up into the air. "You are insufferable."

"And therefore so are you."

It huffed at me and I took that as I had won. I continued to make breakfast and eat in silence.

I could feel its eyes on me the entire time I ate. I knew it wanted something.

"What?" I finally asked as I sat down. I couldn't stand the staring.

"You slept in my bed." It said it without emotion. Just pointing out the obvious.

I closed my eyes at it and pinched the bridge of my nose.

"My god, you are the most annoying."

"For about a month before the hallucinations came." It continued as if I hadn't spoke. "You had them for two months. This past month you have not."

"Until now." I cut in.

"Would you just call Lestrade?"

I left it at the table and made my way back to the bathroom calling over my shoulder, "No."

It flew off from behind me, ran in front of me, and ran into Sherlock's room slamming the door behind it. I giggled at the closed door.

But then I got very worried. I had locked that door. The key was in my room. Maybe that's what it was doing last night when I heard it poking around my desk. More so, my mind was doing it. So did that mean the door was really unlocked or did my mind just make me imagine the hallucination opening and shutting it? I could check but I wasn't sure I would be happy with either answer.

I didn't know what to think.

Maybe that was the last of it. Though this one seemed very adamant so maybe not.

After the bathroom I set out to work on my virtual journal. My therapist would want me to write about this.

* * *

The morning passed and it didn't come back. But I could never be that lucky.

"What are you doing?" It stood behind my chair blocking my light.

"Reading"

"Obviously."

I didn't get its point. So I ignored it and I kept on reading.

"You missed me. You missed your hallucinations."

"I'm going to get those groceries." And not have to face that fact with it. "Don't follow me into the store."

"Did your other hallucinations listen to you when you ordered them around?"

I didn't answer him. I hoped that that question didn't mean he would show.

* * *

I came back to the flat with my groceries and cane in hand.

It was on the couch staring up at the ceiling in his thinking pose. I sighed audibly.

"So you expected me gone did you?"

"That was the mantra on the way home."

"What did you do with my violin?" I ignored it. It knew it was in a box in my closet along with the shirt. It was just trying to talk about a sensitive subject to break me down. It didn't move from the couch. "Alright what about my equipment? My other possessions were sent to Mycroft."

"Mrs. Hudson gave it to schools or some such nonsense."

I probably really shouldn't have been answering its questions. I guessed it was just habit. It already knew the answer to its questions.

"Oh god. Those idiotic children won't know how to handle my equipment! This is unacceptable. When she returns tomorrow the first business will be to get it all back."

We already played this game the first time it came. And also the fourth.

"Right."

I guessed it just wanted to try from the top again.

"What?"

"I've heard this before. You want to know where your equipment went and then you go into some long winded monologue about how you need a case because you've been gone for so long but you can't have one. I ask you where you've gone and...well, that answer is always slightly different. Every time we talk about it."

"What do I usually say?"

I paused in putting the food away. I could ignore it and it would bother me more or I could humor it. It may not be the right thing to do but I wouldn't get a headache. So I answered it.

"That the great Sherlock Holmes couldn't kill himself over something that was obviously so fake. Only an idiot would believe the lies the tabloids printed. It was all part of Moriarty's plan."

I just started to list things off.

"Mycroft was in on it from the start. Never made me feel better about it though. I didn't really believe it. Then you explain how you faked your death."

I knew saying 'you' might suggest I thought it was my Sherlock I was talking to, but I didn't really think that. The 'you' was for the hallucination. I just hoped my mind wouldn't think otherwise. It might make my hallucination stick around longer.

"I don't know where I come up with some of the stuff you say. That's why I allowed myself to think it was really him sometimes. I didn't think I was smart enough to figure a way to fake a jump like that. You then try to explain why you made me watch. Why it was me. You always apologize. Feel bad. That makes it easier to believe you're not real though."

I sighed, trying to separate my feeling again. This wasn't Sherlock. I didn't love this thing.

But the feelings were still lingering.

"I take it though. I always do. You always find some good excuse. Not that you needed one. I just wanted him back. Well then, after I accept your apology, you go into some tirade over what you've been doing. Sometimes it's hiding out. Sometimes it's fighting criminals underground. Sometimes it's watching me. Sometimes it's changing your identity. But you always find your way back to me. You always say you needed to come back. You always say you missed me and needed me."

Another deep breath. This thing wasn't real. Sherlock never said these things. Sherlock was gone.

"How could I push you away then? I just gave in. I believed. Not that I didn't' believe for the longest time that he was actually back. Sorry. It's just easy to talk...when you're talking to yourself. And look at me I'm apologizing to myself. I need…"

Help.

"You're not all that far off you know."

I turned from the cabinet I was putting beans into and saw him standing in the kitchen doorway. My heart sank to my stomach and I had to look away.

"Sher- I can't. Don't ask me to go through that speech again." I took a deep breath and ran a hand over my eyes. "Every time by the end I'm putty. I crumble into your hands again and again. You're not even real and I find myself melting away. I melt away from reality. I can't do that again. I promised everyone and myself that I would try and live my life. I have to get rid of you. Eventually I know I'll have to leave here. It's just…I need time."

I half felt like I was in one of my therapy sessions again. This was harder though. With my therapy I was just talking to my therapist, she had no opinion on what I was saying. Just her medical one. Now I was speaking to a hallucination who looked just like Sherlock.

"I wish you could just see what was in front of you." It spoke from its spot in the door.

"Yeah…I do too."

There was a long pause where I felt it looking at me. I didn't say anything. I just went about with the groceries and started dinner. Dinner being microwave macaroni and cheese.

"Tell me about the first time."

"Excuse me?"

"The first time you hallucinated. What happened?"

"You're in my head. You know what happened."

"You won't tell me unless I'm a hallucination so go on tell me."

I looked over at it and shook my head. What did it mean by that?

"You are a strange one."

"Strange how? Am I different than the others?"

Yes and no. It acted and looked almost just like the others. Mostly he was just different in that he wouldn't admit to not being real. I settled on, "The others were nicer."

"Tell me."

"Why should I?"

"Because it is either talking to me or ignoring me while you sit and watch the TV and if you choose the latter I will be talking to you incessantly."

"I choose the TV. I can make you stop talking if I try hard enough."

"I dare you." I sat down with my dinner in front o f the TV and turned it on."John would you like to know some fun facts about dolphins?" I ignored its sarcasm and turned up the TV volume as it continued to talk, all the while wishing it to go away. "Dolphins are carnivores. Bottlenose dolphins are the most common and well known type of dolphin. The killer whale is actually a type of dolphin. Dolphins communicate with each other by clicks and whistles." It then proceeded to demonstrate said clicks and whistles directly into my ear. My TV volume was nearing its limit.

"Alright! My god you are annoying." I turned down the TV and shut it down. I didn't know I knew that much about dolphins. Then again I could have been making it up. My brain hated me. But I figured I should amuse it or it would drive me insane. Being driven insane by my own brain was a funny thought. Hell, I was already insane. "The first was what, three months ago now. God you know I feel really silly talking like this."

"Continue."

"Fine. Three months ago. I was sleeping and I woke up-"

"In my room."

"I woke up to it standing in the doorway. It was wondering what I was doing sleeping in its or well his bed. I was drunk so I thought I was dreaming but it was still there the next morning. Good enough?"

It stared at me, leaning back in the corner of the couch, covering its lips with the tip of its fingers.

"You must have really missed him." It said from behind its hand.

Why was it talking like this? Usually they always associated themselves as being the same person. It was just confusing me.

"We already had this conversation. Why are you doing this?"

"I'm sure he misses you too. I'm sure he feels terrible for making you go through that."

"I'm not going over this again. You're not here because I need you. You're obviously here just to annoy me."

I went back to eating my dinner. I didn't want to talk about this.

"Could you forgive him?"

I thought about not answering but I was curious.

"For?"

"If he faked his death and came back."

I thought I could ignore it, again, but then again if I did it would probably start clicking again. Best to answer it.

"He made me watch him die. I fought for him. I fought for him when he wouldn't even fight for himself. His actions made me become the worst version of myself. So yes. Of course I would."

"But why? Every reason you just listed goes against forgiveness."

"Because along with the worst in me, he also brought out the best. And because I love him."

I caught myself trying to reach out and hold its hand. I stopped myself but it obviously noticed. That was very stupid of me.

"You do?"

"Why do you keep pretending we haven't had this talk already? What angle are you trying to play at now? I can't deal with your games anymore. I want the truth. Will you still answer any question I give you?"

"I thought I had been."

"Are you real?"

"I am."

"Why are you lying to me now? What changed between this time and last?" It didn't answer. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Probably."

"I can't believe this. You-" I heard a knock at my door. I didn't know who it was. Mrs. Hudson was only coming back tomorrow. I got up and signaled for it to not talk. That was the last thing I needed. It sat in his chair Indian style and nodded curtly. I opened the door. "Lestrade? What are you doing here?"

"Hey, I got your text and…" I looked at him as his mouth fell open and he stopped mid-sentence. His mouth moved but no words were coming out.

"Lestrade? Are you alright?" I reached out to take his pulse. He may have been having an attack of some sort. He pushed my hand away.

"Sher- Sherlock?" Lestrade gasped out. I looked behind me to see it sitting in the chair with a smug smile on its face. I looked back at Lestrade and he was looking at the chair.

"Wait. You-you can see him too?" Lestrade nodded still gaping.

"How?" Lestrade gasped out to the room.

"Now that is quite the story." It said from the chair.

I found time ticking slower.

Everything was moving in slow motion. I looked around from the thing on the couch to Lestrade and back. What mind game was it playing now? I had already moved on. I was doing so well and now my mind went this far? Was I really imagining not only Sherlock but Lestrade too? How badly did my mind want me to believe this was real? That it could happen.

"No." I said to the room. They both looked at me. I shook my head and started back towards the bathroom. My room was too far away. I shut the door behind me and looked at myself in the mirror.

I looked fine. A little whiter than normal but I looked fine. I wasn't running a fever. I didn't hit my head. I hadn't drank since the incident. I didn't take any sleeping pills. My antidepressant was there but it couldn't be causing this. It was supposed to fix this.

Muffled voices traveled from behind the door and I closed my eyes to them. This couldn't be real. I heard a knock on the door.

"No!" I shouted at it.

I didn't know what I was saying no to. No this isn't real. No don't come in. No don't talk to me. No go away.

"John?" It was the Lestrade one. It sounded shaken up. I wouldn't believe it.

"Leave me alone!" I shouted towards the door and sank down on the ground. I put my head in between my knees and ran my hands through my hair pulling at the ends. I could feel the pain. I was defiantly awake.

I heard noises coming from the door but they were drowned out from my breathing. I had started to hyperventilate again.

"No, no, no. No. No. No. No." I guessed that was my voice.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"John? What's going on?" The Lestrade voice was near my ear. It was its hand on my shoulder.

"Panic attack." The Sherlock one was speaking from the bathroom doorway. It was moving in. I could feel it bend next to me. They were both bending over me. I stayed perfectly still with my eyes closed. I felt like I was being smothered. I was getting nauseous from it all.

"But why? I mean obviously. I'm still not sure what's going on but he was fine when I got here." Lestrade voice.

"His former delusions have caused him to lose grip with reality. He doesn't think either of us are real." Sherlock voice.

"What former delusions? What are you talking about?"

"He never told you. He hasn't been having them. Ah antidepressants. Hand me his phone."

I felt it move around until it picked my phone out of my pocket. "Here."

"Go make tea."

"I don't think tea will-"

"Now!" The Lestrade one left and I heard the buttons on my phone being clicked by the other. "John is having a panic attack...Why is he not on anxiety medication?...Well why did you listen to him? … You idiot….No...Yes. Fine." The phone call ended abruptly. It bent down in front of me again. "John?" I didn't look up at it. "Since you're an idiot and don't have any anxiety pills your therapist said to keep you cool and work on breathing like you had. Since I am the cause of this attack I am going to leave you alone. I'll bring your tea. Lestrade!"

It left the room and I was by myself. I opened my eyes finally. I still felt sick. My head felt heavy but I lifted it up to rest against the wall. My phone and my antidepressants were on the ground in front of me. I heard it shuffle back into the room and I closed my eyes again.

"Remember two, two, four, four, five, five."

It left.

What did that mean?

I opened my eyes to see a cup of tea near my feet. I stared at it, watching the steam twist up into the air. I heard voices coming from the other room but I didn't want to know what they were saying. I continued to watch the steam until there was no more. I reached forward and held the cup in my hands. Watching the steam had calmed my breathing. Now I could focus on it.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Hold.

I took a sip of the tea and smacked my tongue in revulsion. It was pretty terrible. Actually it was more than terrible. I put it back down. I picked up my bottle of pills. I hadn't taken mine yet today. I always took them with dinner and I hadn't been able to finish my dinner. Maybe that's why my mind was doing this to me. Because I missed a pill. I had to fix that.

I used the wall to push myself up. I didn't feel like I was going to explode anymore. That was good. I clutched the bottle in my hand and walked towards the door. I could hear the voices still but it didn't make me panic. I knew what was going on. I could get control again.

I walked out into the living room with my pills in hand and was greeted by both of them stopping whatever they were talking about and gaping at me. I picked up my mac'n'cheese and made my way back to the kitchen to reheat it in the microwave. I felt their eyes on me but continued to pour water into a glass and pop back the pill.

"John?" The Lestrade one called out from the couch.

"There's no point." The Sherlock one was on his chair sitting on the back of it with his shoes on the cushion. I didn't notice he was wearing sneakers till then. Just went along with his jeans and sweatshirt look.

"Why didn't you tell me you were seeing Sherlock? I never would have left you alone." I got out my dinner and started to nibble at it from the kitchen. "Is that why you drank that night? Did your hallucinations make you do it?" I smiled a bit. The way it was making Lestrade sound was pretty good. Though it was a bit jumpy with its thoughts.

"He did it to see the hallucination. Not because it made him."

Two parts of my mind were having a conversation in front of me. Lovely.

"How do we prove we're not fake?" The Lestrade one asked.

"I have yet to decide." The Sherlock one was in his thinking pose. "I thought your presence would be enough. He's too far gone."

"Does that mean he won't be able to tell what's real?"

"We need a variable that is different about me. Different than the other Sherlocks he's seen."

"What about me?"

"You? You're new. He doesn't trust you. He trusts me."

"Well obviously not if he doesn't even believe your here."

"Go home Lestrade. You're of no use."

"But-"

I walked up the stairs before I could hear the argument. I had a book up there I'd been reading. I would just focus on that. Soon I heard the sound of a pair of footsteps coming up the stairs. There was a muffled argument and then one of them went down. I continued to read.

* * *

A few hours later and I was starting to nod off. I went out of my bedroom and saw the Sherlock one sitting next to my door propped up against the wall. It was zoning out with his hands poised under his chin. His eyes would dart in certain directions but wouldn't focus on anything. I ignored it and walked down to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

When I came back up the stairs it was sitting on my bed. I sighed and held the door open.

"Get out please." I really just wanted to sleep. I had work the next day.

"I'm not leaving until you see the truth."

"I do see the truth now please leave." I motioned for the door again but it wasn't going anywhere. I moved to the other side of my bed and crawled in. It stayed there so I turned to face away from it.

"Ask me the questions."

"What?"

Another mind game?

"Ask me the questions you always asked them. That I would answer truthfully."

"I don't-"

"Ask."

I sighed out loud and pushed myself into a sitting position. I rested my back on the headboard and looked at it in the dark. To be honest, it hurt much more now. Earlier when he first appeared and while he was around me, I pushed my feelings down. I separated them like my therapist taught me to. But when it was just us, in my room, in the dark, it was harder.

I figured I better play along though or it would do dolphin noises at me all night long. "Will you answer any question I have for you truthfully?"

It seemed pleased I was playing along. "Every other time I said I would, but this time I will give you the truth. I will answer truthfully for most questions but not for all. I'm not ready to give an answer for some questions you may have. Next question."

"Right." What kind of an answer was that? Where is the _that is what I said I'd do_? "Are you real?"

"Every other time I would have said no or something to that nature. This time I can tell you, being honest, that yes I am real. I will not lie to you about that."

Yeah right.

"I told you to lie to me once. How do I know you're not just carrying that over?"

I had always thought about that. It was the night the third disappeared. I tried not to think about what I said much but I did. I thought it was why the fourth time it happened the thing went into the speech about where he was again. The fresh start was able to happen because I told it to lie.

"Ask the next question."

So it was ignoring the lying thing.

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"As long as you believe me."

"Right."

I really didn't know what else to say. Those were the three questions I asked every one.

"Now I have a question for you."

"Great. This should be interesting."

"Will you answer me with the truth?"

"I can't lie to myself now can I?"

"Did you mean it when you said you loved me?"

"I meant it when I said I loved him."

"Did you keep a physical relationship with you hallucinations?"

"Jesus." That just made is sound weird. "What are you trying at?"

"I'll take your avoidance as a yes. How physical John?"

"I am not talking about this." I tried to push down into the bed but his leg bent up and stretched over into my space. Not touching me but still in the way.

"You slept next to them. You didn't sleep with them. No that would be a whole new psychosis. Two months. You only held their hand. Nothing more. Would you know the difference between the touch of a hallucination and that of the real thing?"

"Are we done?" I was getting an uncomfortable feeling in my gut. Something was off and I didn't like it. I didn't know what to make of it.

"Not nearly."

Before I could ask what that meant I felt two warm hands gripping the side of my face. Next thing I knew my lips were smothered by the thing that had been sitting on my bed. I froze. This had never happened. My eyes were wide open and I stared as lips slowly moved against mine.

The hands on my face slid down my cheeks, to my neck, to my shoulders, to my arms, leaving a tingling trail behind them. My arms were gripped at the elbow and placed on its back. The hands roamed back up to my face and I felt one twine into my hair. A warm puff of breath hit my face as it pulled away for a moment to switch and tilt its head to the other side.

I closed my eyes.

Then I really felt the lips moving on mine. There was something. There was something squirming inside of me trying to break free. I pulled the body closer. I took in a breath and tentatively moved my lips back. Then I felt it.

I finally felt it.

This was nothing like with the hallucinations. I always touched them first, I set the boundaries. No hallucination had acted like this. This was different. It was too real. It was all too real. I started panting, my heart started beating faster, I was heating up. I felt everything.

The lips moving on mine pulled away slightly and a forehead rested against my own.

"Sherlock?" My broken voice squeaked out.

"Finally." His gruff voice answered back.

This was real. I was awake. This was real. He was here. That had happened. My body was hot, my mouth was wet, my heart was pounding. Sherlock had kissed me back into reality.

I was a fucking fairytale princess.

"Oh god. Oh god. Oh shit. I…you're real. You're here." I was shaking him a bit more than I meant to. "How? When? Where…were any of them you? Oh god. You're not...Oh god."

"John don't have another panic attack. And alas no, this is the first time I am real. Still you've dealt with this once before."

"Twice actually but they weren't real. I knew they weren't real. You're real? Oh god you're real." I pulled my hands off of him and put them over my mouth. "Oh god I told you everything! Oh god you know. You…Oh my god."

"It wasn't like I didn't already know John. Though I did want to see how much you would say if you thought you were talking to yourself."

"You're real. You're not dead. But I made myself believe…How do I know? How do I know that I'm not dead? How do I know that you won't disappear again? How do I know that the people around me are real? I don't know what reality is anymore. I don't trust people. I don't really trust myself. I made up my fantasy world but I wanted it to be real. My nightmares are vivid, for all I know they're what's real. My own reality is mixed with the two. How do I know I'm not dreaming? How do I tell what's real?" I was more talking my thoughts out loud than really asking.

"I cannot talk to you if you start to panic again. You know I'm real. Accept that."

"You just want me to accept it _now_?"

"The faster the better."

Sherlock was not dead. Sherlock was on my bed. Sherlock was alive.

"There that's better. We'll talk in the morning." Sherlock hit me on the arm and strolled out of my room. I was left to gape at the door after him. I felt very confused again.

What had just happened?

* * *

**AN: **Let me know if anything was confusing. It makes sense to me but I'm tired.


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 2:**

I slept that night but it took a while. A long while.

It took a lot not to go down and check on Sherlock. A very big part of me didn't trust my own mind. But how could I not see how real that kiss was? I couldn't dispute it. It felt too real. It was different. He was different.

Still I couldn't trust it. I couldn't' trust him.

I couldn't get over the fact that I kissed him and he kissed me. The more I went over it, the more I realized it was just to shock me into reality. He needed to do something no hallucination had done. Something I wouldn't have them do because it wouldn't fit. It didn't mean anything.

It didn't mean my lips didn't still tingle.

What if my mind was making it all up? It deserved a medal but it could still be possible. Although I didn't know why it would fake Lestrade too. The more reasons I came up with not to believe myself and my surroundings, the more reasons popped up to believe what was happening. I was seriously confused.

All I had was the fact that I accepted it. I accepted Sherlock was alive and in my apartment. In our apartment. My hallucinations were right. Sherlock faked his death.

Sherlock was a bastard.

And I had to face that bastard when I went down for breakfast. He would probably be waiting for me.

He was.

Sort of.

He was lying on the couch looking up at the ceiling. He was still wearing that sweatshirt and jeans but I guessed that was because we had gotten rid of all of his other clothes. We donated them actually, to the homeless needing suits for job interviews. It took a lot for me to give them away. I wasn't sure how'd he feel about that. He probably knew some of the men borrowing the suits. I didn't know if he'd try and get them back.

He wasn't wearing shoes this morning. I supposed he took them off when he decided to sleep on the couch. The truth of it was that I chose to sell his bed. It was too comfortable and too much of a temptation. I figured if I got rid of it, I would get rid of the temptation, and I could use the money to buy a different bed. I'd even make a profit off it. I just hadn't gotten around to it yet. I was doing well but the thought of someone else living in Sherlock's space was still a little hard for me.

I guess I didn't have to worry about that now.

I looked up at the ceiling but I couldn't see what he was looking at. He didn't acknowledge that I was downstairs now. He just continued his dazed stare at the ceiling. I chose not to interrupt him.

I moved about the flat getting ready for work but he didn't say or do anything. I was fine with that. I didn't think I could handle a conversation yet and I wasn't about to call in to work. I had done that enough times for him. Not even the real him.

There was still the plaguing thought that he was fake and that what happened the night before was a dream. A cruel dream my brain made up to punish me for whatever reason.

I left for work without saying anything.

* * *

That day I spent talking to patients and filling out paperwork but really I was off somewhere else. I was running through everything that was said since he was back.

I told him a lot that I wouldn't have if I'd of known it was him. He said he did that on purpose though. To see how much I would tell him.

Well I definitely told him more than I was comfortable with.

He probably already knew it all. It was probably why he tricked me into saying it. He knew I would never actually tell him. But why would he want me to tell him?

Then there was Lestrade. I would have to call him up and apologize. I wasn't looking forward to that. I would have to apologize not only for not telling him about the hallucinations and all that went along with that, but also for refusing to believe he was real. I'm sure he didn't appreciate it. No one wants to be told they're not real.

Except for maybe Sherlock. He probably loved the fact that I hallucinated him. It was just another puzzle to figure out. He would spend his time trying to crack my mind open in order to tell him all that was said and all that his hallucinations did.

There was no getting out of this one was there?

I supposed I could leave the country. Hop on a plane and go somewhere where they don't speak English. Then again it would probably take Sherlock less than a day to find me. Hell, it would take him less than an hour.

I thought about just walking. Sneaking out at night, taking a couple of jumpers and some tea and hitching a ride. How could Sherlock find me then?

Damn, I knew that was a load of crap. Sherlock Holmes didn't need a plane ticket to find someone. He would probably wait a day, find my shoe print ten miles out, and know exactly where I was headed.

No this was something I had to face. It really shouldn't have been that big a deal. I had done it before. Granted it was much different now. Before there was always that nagging feeling that who I was talking to, who was explaining their fake death to me, was not real. Now I still had that feeling but it was just me lying to myself. Deep down in my gut I knew that this was Sherlock.

Sherlock would be the only one to find a way to make it this real.

That was another thing that kept rolling around in my thoughts. The night before I had already talked myself into understanding that Sherlock only kissed me to shock me back into reality. He only did it to help me understand faster. How he knew that would work, I couldn't understand. I wasn't him.

Did he know how it would affect me though?

I mean he probably didn't expect me to hallucinate him as an effect to his suicide. He didn't really care enough to think his own actions through. He probably didn't know what his suicide did to me. Or he did and he ignored that because it was necessary at that time. Or because he did and was just an ass.

Did he know how the kiss would affect me?

I found myself more than once licking my lips or touching them with my fingertips. I told him I loved him. He knew that when he kissed me. What was he going to do about it? Probably nothing. I really didn't know what he was thinking. Feelings weren't his thing. Let alone talking about his feelings. That would be something completely unprecedented.

My hallucinations thawed me out. They made me feel. But I hadn't felt something like that in a very long time. Even thinking about it would get my heart racing. I needed to rein that in though. I couldn't let him see me flustered about it when I got home.

* * *

After I paid the taxi driver I stood outside the door.

Mrs. Hudson would be home soon. I had to find a way to tell her too. I knew Sherlock probably wouldn't be too sensitive about it.

I also needed to ground myself before I went in and saw Sherlock there. So many times I had come home looking forward to shutting myself out and spending the night alone with my illusion. Then I spent so much time learning to expect an empty flat.

I always believed he would come back. I could never fully accept that he was gone. I believed in Sherlock Holmes. Bur right now…now I didn't know what to believe.

I guess I wasn't wrong to believe in him but my faith wavered so much.

Well the only thing to do was to face it. So I opened the door and hopped my way up the stairs.

When I opened the door I found him still stuck there on the couch looking up at the ceiling. It looked like he hadn't moved all day. I thought about asking but decided to do the familiar and get myself some tea instead.

He didn't move at all. Not even when I sat down in my own chair and faced him. For a second I was very worried. He hadn't moved at all. I had the need to jump up and check his pulse but then I could see his chest lifting up from an intake of breath.

"I'm back." Sherlock spoke suddenly, still towards the ceiling.

"Yes. I suppose you are."

"I must say your reaction is different than what I expected. I expected physical contact in the form of a hug."

I chuckled at him. Sherlock wanting a hug?

"I did that the first time you came back. Disappointed?"

"So you did."

I noticed he ignored my question. I smiled again. Maybe this would be easier than I thought.

"What do we do now then?"

"Now, I'll tell you everything. You need to know what was real and what wasn't."

"Great."

Maybe not.

"Nine months ago I faked my own death. Do you have any theories as to how?"

"Yes but I'd rather you just told me."

"Very well." He pushed off the couch into a sitting position and faced me. He dove in as if he was talking about a vacation. Just casual. Being Sherlock. Speaking fast so I had to mentally try and catch up. "What you saw was real. I did in fact jump from that building. What you didn't see was me hitting the ground. That was on purpose. The entire thing was on purpose. I sent you out of the lab with the fake message about Mrs. Hudson in order to get to the rooftop alone. I knew Moriarty wouldn't let me live. It would be the finale to his game. It was how he was going to win. It was the fall I owed him.

"I met him on the roof. I knew what would happen if I couldn't find a way to best him so I had orchestrated a plan. Molly helped me round up some people from my homeless network and quickly gave them civilian clothes and hospital equipment. She was also the one who called you about Mrs. Hudson. She simply changed her voice. She also helped me get the necessary chemicals to create the solution that would temporarily stop my heart. Dangerous but necessary.

"The timing of your arrival was precise. I carried out Moriarty's conversation enough to where I knew you would be coming back to find me in the lab. You had to of gone back to the apartment and seen Mrs. Hudson and know something was off. When I saw I couldn't get out of faking my death I injected myself.

"I knew I had to call you. That entire phone call was necessary. I had to have someone pass on that message. It would keep Moriarty's men away. I also couldn't have you believing I was faking my death. However, what I said on the phone was a lie. I was indeed acting. Everything Moriarty said about me was a lie. I had also timed out our phone call precisely so that the homeless people Molly prepared were ready.

"You saw me fall but you did not see me hit the ground. I purposefully told you where to stand so you wouldn't see. Bellow me was a net held by those people. They caught me and quickly took the net away as the biker collided with you. He was also someone that was paid off. By the time you were able to reach me the members of the network, and a few spectators, had managed to create a wall around me. They kept you from me long enough for the chemicals I shot into my arm to work and for them to pour out the blood. Easy enough to get for Molly. They kept you away as the members dressed in hospital gear came to take me away. There was a reason I was picked up when no one had even called inside. Then of course I slipped out the back. I made sure you wouldn't be able to see me, paying off the secretaries of the hospital and telling them some crack story. It was all a perfectly timed out plan."

"Wow." I pictured it all in my mind from his point of view. I could see everything being carried out as I, John, was pushed out of the way and tossed around like a rag doll. "That's…"

"Brilliant. I know." Sherlock spoke from his chair as he had danced about while telling his story. That was where he last landed.

"Harsh actually. I was the one this was planned for." Everything was about where I was, what I was doing, what I was seeing, where I was going. "I don't know whether to feel special, angry, or especially dumb because I fell for it."

"You just witnessed your friend jump off a building. You were hardly coherent enough to look for discrepancies."

How could he act like this wasn't a big deal? He precisely carried out a plan to make his best friend watch him die. He called me and told me a bunch of lies on top of that. The last words I heard from him were lies. I knew that of course, but still the way he just said it hurt. He really just didn't care.

"You know I didn't tell people you were a fraud." I said out loud.

"I know. It didn't matter if you did. I just had to say it."

He just had to say it. I had no response to that. I turned over the story in my mind again.

"Molly knew."

I thought about how she visited me in the hospital and the look of pity on her face. She must have wanted to tell me. Maybe that's what she was hiding.

"Mycroft did too. I had him erase the camera footage."

"Right." So maybe paying for my rent and hospital bill was a way of showing he was sorry rather than an obligation. Maybe not. He was a Holmes. Maybe Sherlock made him.

Molly knew. Mycroft knew. "No one told me."

"It was for your own safety."

My own safety. I could have laughed. He sounded just like the hallucinations.

"That's what they said too." I looked over at him but looked back at the wall when I felt a flash of anger. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

He paused at my grave tone and ignored my question. I took that as a no. I was never going to know. He was going to let me live the rest of my life without knowing. I was going to go to my grave thinking I lost the best friend I'd ever had. The man I realized I loved.

"What else did they say?" He went on to ask.

I knew he would want to know about the hallucinations. I knew it but I bitterly didn't want to tell him. Then again if he could explain what was real and what wasn't, I would need that. Best to get it out then while I was still not registering how mad I was.

"They said you made me watch because it was more believable. I guess that's what you just told me too." I felt another flash of anger that I needed to control. "They said you made me watch because I was a soldier and I should have been able to handle it. Anyone else wouldn't have faired as well or it would have caused a bigger scene than necessary for a fake death. It needed to be me."

"Very good John." The praise made my stomach twist.

"Don't. Just…just don't okay." I took a calming breath and thought it over again. Now I knew how. But I didn't get why. Why me? Why this? Why jumping of a bloody building? "You still haven't told me why. Why you did it."

"I told you, Moriarty needed me to fall."

"So Moriarty needed you to fake your death? By jumping off a roof?"

Who could I blame here? How much could I put on Moriarty?

"He might have expected me to die. The roof was my idea. I had him meet me there."

Jumping off a building was his idea. Of course. If you're going to fake your death, might as well make it the biggest one possible. I guess it made sense with the fall thing though.

"He had three snipers, on you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. He said they would kill all of you if they didn't see me jump." A devilish smile crossed his face. "He never said anything about them needing to see me land."

I nodded blindly but then got confused. Moriarty was on the roof he said.

"But the man was with you. He had to of seen what you did. He had to know you faked it. That you outsmarted him."

"After he told me he had the snipers on you I found out he had a way to call them off." He pushed off his chair and started to move around again as he spoke. "I was going to get him to call them off and he knew it. So he put his gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. I wasn't happy about that. Yes he was out of the way, but I still had to go through with my own death."

I gaped at him. He couldn't have led with this fact?

"He killed himself?"

"I said he ate his gun. I never said he killed himself. They were never able to find his body after all. The news report said the roof was clear of any evidence as far as if I was pushed or jumped. If there was a dead body up there, there would have been a different story."

"But why would he fake his own death?"

I felt like every question was bringing more questions rather than answers.

"He didn't care about dying. He just wanted something to do with his time. If he was to ruin me, the best competition he'd had, he didn't see a point. He wanted to play another angle. Try a different game."

"I'm sorry...How could he shoot himself in the face and not die from it?"

I still couldn't get over that fact.

"I have a few theories. Would you like to hear them?"

"No actually. I'd much rather know what you did next. You made your best friend watch you fake your own death, illegally using hospital equipment and people from your homeless network, deleted all evidence that it was fake, purposefully didn't tell said friend, and then what? Vacation?"

"Ah resentment. That I expected. I wanted to come and tell you but I couldn't risk it. If it came to light that my death was a fake right after the fact then Moriarty's snipers would have killed you. Moriarty wasn't around to tell them otherwise."

"I thought you said he isn't dead."

"I don't know for sure. I do know he's not the one calling the shots. Though he may be the one pulling the strings."

"Who is calling the shots?"

"A man by the name of Sebastian Moran." Sherlock turned to me and flourished his arms. "Dishonorable discharge from the military. Long intertwined in the web of Moriarty's crimes. His favorite sniper and hit man. Some sources say he was his right hand man. I do think he was the one with us that night in the pool. He was the one with the gun trained on you."

"That still doesn't explain what you've been doing."

"Getting rid of the problem." He raised his eyebrows at me but I wasn't in the mood for his games.

"What does that even mean?"

"I've been creeping my way into Moriarty's system. I've been finding ways to cut the threads of his web from the inside. I've been working my way to finding Moran and eventually Moriarty."

"But you haven't."

"No not yet."

"But then why haven't they killed you? They had to of known what you were doing."

Sherlock wasn't one for subtly.

"That's one of the reasons I still believe Moriarty is alive."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would-"

"Moriarty wanted to burn the heart out of me." Sherlock interrupted and dove in front of me bringing his face to my level. "What do you think he meant by that?"

"I don't know." I found my words stuck in my throat at the proximity of his face to mine. "I thought by taking your work away and making you out to be a fraud he-"

"You," He whispered and I furrowed my eyes at him. "You, John. He figured out that you were special. You were different. He would only let me live if you continued to suffer. He wanted me to know you were suffering. That is not to say he didn't come for me on more than one occasion."

"Me?" I felt my heart skip a beat and my stomach flutter. "But-"

"Don't make me repeat myself." He pushed form my chair and paced through the room

"Alright." I was that important to Sherlock that I was used like a chess piece in their game? I felt flattered but also still mad. I was alive though. But for how long? If Sherlock didn't tell me for my safety, what was going to happen? "But if you weren't done, why did you come back? Won't they know you came here? Won't they know you talked to me, let me know? Won't they come for you? For me? Us?"

"Molly. She told me…" He moved to the window and looked towards the street again. "I found out you had injured yourself and were sent to the hospital."

"You talked to Molly?"

Now I sounded like the jealous one.

"Only for emergencies. It was the first time she had contacted me."

"What exactly did she say?"

That I tried to kill myself?

"That you had been found passed out in the kitchen and were brought to St. Bart's."

"Did she say why?"

"She might have." He said elusively.

I waited for him to continue but he didn't.

"That was a long time ago." I said.

Almost a month ago.

"I came as quick as I could."

"Let me guess, had to solve a case first?" I asked half joking. Really I just wanted him to say no.

"It was imperative." My heart sank at the answer. "I was undercover at a marine facility and-"

"And let me guess. It had something to do with dolphins?"

"Not directly. Though I chose to learn a great deal about them to get the job."

"And why would you do that?"

"Dolphins are smarter than most humans. They seemed like the least boring aquatic animal." He flopped over onto the couch again.

"Well it explains the dolphin noises."

"It really is quite fascinating how one dolphin can-"

"Sherlock." I put up a hand to stop him before he started. "I'm not quite done here."

"Fine. Go on."

"A few things don't make sense to me. Why wasn't there a sniper on Mycroft? He is your brother after all."

"One theory was his guards couldn't be bought. It would be hard to infiltrate where he works, not that Moriarty couldn't have done it. We were also never that close. I believe they thought I would be too furious with him over what he did to me to care. At the time that was probably true. That or Moriarty was thanking him for the information."

"But you're not mad now?"

"Unfortunately I needed to forgive him because I needed his help. Financial dilemmas."

"So where have you been this entire time?"

"Everywhere really. Crime sweeps across the globe. I've been low key. I lived in cheap places, sometimes staying with members of the homeless network. Hence why I'm dressed in this rubbish wear." I smiled a bit as he pulled at his sweatshirt. "I'd solve cases and anonymously leave messages for the police so they would catch up. Sometimes I'd work with them."

"That must have killed you. Not getting the credit."

He paused and I thought he wasn't going to answer but then he spoke.

"It was all to come home."

I smiled at him. I was glad he still thought of this as home. I guessed it was good I didn't rent out his room after all.

"I guess that kept you from being bored."

"Mostly. What did you mean by no media?" He quickly flipped onto his side to face me.

"What?"

"Last night when we were talking about why I was dressed this way." He said annoyed.

"Oh," As If I knew what he was thinking about at all hours of the day. That's what they always said. It was why they could never leave the flat or talk to anyone else or own a cell phone. They had made a deal with Moriarty to only do low key cases and stay out of the spotlight. That way Moriarty had something to do. If the media got wind they were back then we would both die. Aren't you worried? Moran or Moriarty or whatever will know you contacted me and kill us."

He never did answer me the first time I asked. I was fairly certain he wasn't going to, and was going to let me forget I asked. If Moriarty planned this to make me live in the dark and make me suffer, something was going to happen now that Sherlock was back and I was in the light and only suffering due to annoyance and not grief.

"I plan to contact. Make a deal."

I didn't like the idea of a deal. What could we have to offer?

"How are you going to do that?"

"He sends a spotter to check on me every once and a while. I'm sure since I've returned to London he is already here. He has been my contact with Moran. He is the one they send to threaten me."

"Why doesn't he just kill you himself?"

"They want to see how far I'll go. They want to play the game."

Another game. If it was the only reason Sherlock was alive, I guessed I couldn't complain just yet. He was alive and he was able to tell me so himself.

"So now I know. Lestrade knows. Molly knows. Mycroft knows. Mrs. Hudson? How are you going to tell her?"

"Tomorrow. We'll let her settle from her trip and then you'll tell her."

"Me?"

"Yes you. I don't want to frighten her by telling her myself."

"Alright."

That was going to be a challenge. _Hello Mrs. Hudson, want to see Sherlock? He's right upstairs. I know I've hallucinated him a lot before but this time I swear he's real!_

"But if I get put in the loony bin, you're going to have to bail me out." He smiled at my remark and I smiled back. "So is that everything?"

"Obviously not everything."

"I mean…" You arrogant sod. "Well this had to be great fun for you didn't it? You got to fake your own death and lead a life of solving crimes without having to dictate to society's rules." Some of my anger and bitterness seeped through. "I'm sure you loved it. I'm sorry my hospital trip brought you back."

Sherlock studied me for a bit before sitting up and staring at me. If I didn't know any better I would have said he was struggling with what to say next.

"The hardest part of falling was not to look at you and tell you." I opened my mouth to respond but he mumbled something unintelligible and continued. "No. No, when you were at my grave asking me to tell you it was a lie. That was the hardest."

He heard that? He was there and he didn't say anything? The memory of speaking to Sherlock's shiny black gravestone made my chest hurt. It was one of the few moments I broke down. Sometimes I still felt that broken.

"I'm glad I'm back." I studied Sherlock's face and saw as it fall. It started to move on its own, showing the emotion underneath. "I hated it John. The way I was forced to live and move around. Yes it was fun at some points. But all I wanted was to come home. I hated to think of how I affected you. Moriarty got what he wanted in the end. And I'm sorry I couldn't stop it."

I wanted to believe him. I so desperately did. He looked so sincere. It was what I wanted after all, for him to feel bad about what he did to me. To be sorry. But I had heard these things before.

"That's what they said too." I responded with coldly.

I could see he had expected a different response. I could see my words hurt him and his face returned to blank.

"You think I'm acting." He said with a stoic face.

"I don't know what to think." I said honestly.

"Believe what you want." He spat at me, jumping up from his seat. "What I told you is true. I risked my life coming back here. Honestly I risked yours."

"And why did you do that?" I stood now angry myself. "You could have called Molly or Mycroft. They would have told you I was fine."

"Is that what you would have rather happened?" He turned on me and rounded into my personal space. It only riled me up more.

"I don't know Sherlock." No, not really. "You were free to do what you wanted and you came back for nothing."

"I came back for you."

"But I was fine!"

"No you obviously weren't!" He yelled even closer to my face. "I was out there every night thinking about how you were. I kept telling myself that I shouldn't care, that it would get me nowhere, but I did. I had to spend months worried about if you were dead or alive. I didn't know if they were going to change their mind. Believe it or not I cannot actually predict the future. I liked having cases, yes, because they took my mind off of you. I did everything to take my mind off you. But there you were buzzing about." He flapped a hand around between our faces. "My worry and my caring. It was what he wanted. To throw me off. Well it did! Then I got that blasted phone call from Molly telling me you tried to kill yourself! Do you know what that did to me? Do you know how much it killed me that I couldn't leave that second to come and get you?"

I gaped at him. He had never spoken like that about me before. My heart was racing as his yelling buzzed in my ear.

"Good! Maybe you understood what it was like! I had to watch you die Sherlock! You weren't even around when I went to the hospital!"

"And you don't think that's worse?"

"I don't know Sherlock," I started sarcastically. "I hallucinated your existence for two months. I think that wins!"

"I didn't know!" He pulled away and doubled back. "I couldn't tell you. You have to see that. I wanted to. I wanted to come back but I couldn't."

"I believed in you Sherlock! I always thought you would come back to me but you didn't. Instead my mind made up the reality in which you did. And now you come back spurting on about how sorry you are? Forgive me if I don't believe you now!"

"Believe me now. It was hell out there without you. I haven't felt this way before!"

"You haven't felt before! Some good old feelings would do you some good."

"Are you so naïve enough to actually believe I don't have feelings? I haven't felt? John that's all I did! It was how Moriarty got to me! It was how he won!"

"Well I'm so sorry I made you lose your little game!"

"I didn't care he won! I cared he hurt you to do it!"

"I'm sure you did. I'm sure this wasn't-"

"Dear god! Can you be more ignorant?"

"Can you be more infuriating?"

The next thing I knew my face was being grabbed and Sherlock's lips collided into my own. He was holding me tightly and I squirmed to get away. He pulled down harder and opened his mouth biting down on my lips. I pushed back enough to grab his arms and push him away.

"Don't! Don't do that! You can't just do that to shut me up! To make me do whatever you want!"

Sherlock ran at me again and I tried to block him but he saw it coming. He was after all a very stealthy fighter. He pushed away my hands and grabbed my wrists pinning my arms to my side. Again I felt his face smash into mine and his lips opened trying to pull my mouth open with his teeth.

"Sherlock!" I yelled out around his mouth. He stuck his tongue into it when it was open. I gagged at the sudden entry and managed to push back on his hands so he stumbled back.

"You told me you loved me. Is that true or not?!" He yelled at me.

"I told you that because I thought you weren't real!"

"True or not?!"

Sherlock moved over to me fast as I was gaping over at him. He bear hugged me and kicked out with a leg, wrapping it around the back of mine. He swung it in and sent us crashing down onto the couch. Quickly he straddled my lap, keeping me from standing up.

"Would you stop?!" I yelled out trying to struggle to get out of his arms.

"I am not acting. This is real. Now tell me the truth."

I struggled more but he had me locked in tight.

"Get off me!"

"True or not?" He brought his head down so it was pinning mine with his forehead. I was forced to look at him close in the eyes. I growled and he asked again. "True or not?"

I struggled one last time before grumbling out, "True." There really wasn't a point in lying to him. I expected him to just get up off me and be glad he won. He would probably just tell me that if I loved him then I should forgive him.

Instead he crashed our lips together and moved them hard against mine. I was stuck in his arms with his weight on top of me. I was a little stunned at first but I soon found my lips started to part and crash back against his. Faster and faster my lips rolled into his and I moved hard, trying to bite him back for biting at me in the first place.

I grabbed onto his lower lip with my teeth and I could hear him growling at me. He squeezed me hard with his arms before letting me go. My arms flung up to grip him down tighter, clawing at his back. His own hands started to dig into my shoulders and I arched up in response. I let go of the grip on his lip with my teeth and moved my lips faster on his, trying to keep up with his quick pace.

"You." He growled out between smashing his lips back onto mine. "Masochistic." Again he smashed his lips into mine. "Idiot."

I smiled against his mouth and continued attacking it. "What's that-" His lips crashed into mine, "supposed to-" again I couldn't get a full sentence out, "mean?"

"You-" He talked again between running his teeth across my lip and pulling it out, making it pop when it bounced back. "Love me."

Hearing him sound so proud when he said that made my heart bounce and my hands grabbed him tighter pulling him flush to my body. I blindly ran a hand up his back and wrapped it up into his shaggy black hair. He groaned as I pulled back on it pushing my tongue into his mouth as his opened.

He responded by pushing his own tongue forward and battling to get it into my own mouth. I pulled back with a moan when I needed air. As I breathed, I continued to kiss him down to his neck where I pulled back on the black hoodie and sank my teeth down into his flesh. He grabbed me tighter which only made me bite down harder.

"I bet you knew that already." I spoke into his neck as I switched sides and licked a line up to his ear and started to nibble on his lobe. I could feel the breath of his pant hit against my face and I grinned, slipping my tongue out to play around the rim of his ear.

"I didn't actually." His voice came out gruff and his chest was heaving against my own.

"No?" I whispered into his ear before taking another bite.

"Love I subjective. I thought I was projecting my own thoughts onto- oh god." He couldn't finish his sentence because my tongue dipped down into his ear. I breathed cool air onto it and I felt him shiver in response.

Before I could do anything else his hands grabbed onto my hair and ripped my head back from his. He then smashed into my body causing me to fall back onto the back of the couch. I ran my hands back down his front fishing around the edges of his sweatshirt. It seemed like something he needed to take off. It wasn't like him anyway. That and it was getting much too hot for so many layers.

As I pulled up on the sweatshirt I felt something move in the giant front pocket. I didn't think anything of it at first but then I heard something fall to the floor and I quickly looked down to see what it was. On the ground was a packet of cigarettes that popped open to show they had been used.

I looked back at Sherlock and he looked like a little kid caught with his hands stuck in the cookie jar. He might as well have been. I glared at him and saw his eyes dart back to the floor. I jumped for the ground at the same time he did.

We crashed on the ground on top of each other. I pushed him down under me and reached for the pack as he struggled and punched my elbow out. I quickly switched hands and grabbed the pack as tight as I could as he tried to pry my fingers off.

I stood up quick and pushed away from him keeping the distance between us. There was no way I could play keep away when he was so much taller than me. The only way was to keep him from getting too close.

"What's this Sherlock?" I rattled the half empty back at my side. I saw him glare at it.

"If you didn't know what it was then you wouldn't be keeping it from me."

He tried to run for me but I managed to separate us with my chair. We circled around it for a bit as we talked. It was like I was playing with Harry all over again.

"And what about the patches?"

"No longer effective."

"When was the last time you smoked?" We continued to dance around the chair and he didn't answer me. "Sherlock?"

"Two hours ago."

"Two hours?" He ran for me in the opposite direction and I ran off to the bathroom. I chucked the cigarettes in and tried to push the door shut. He managed to grab the door before I could shut it and he pushed back as hard as he could. "How did you smoke and I not know it?!" I yelled still trying to close the door. "I couldn't smell it on you or anything!" I also couldn't taste it on him.

"Alcohol swab, chewing gum, and shower!" He yelled back through the door. I had my back to it and was trying to push with my legs straight out.

I ran over that list quickly in my head.

"What about your clothes?" I didn't smell it on them.

"Wasn't wearing any."

"What?" The image of Sherlock smoking his cigarette naked distracted me enough to the point where he pushed open the door enough to slip inside. The door shut as my bodyweight slammed it closed. He ran over to the other side of the bathroom having already figured out where the pack landed.

"Naked, John. Is that a problem?" He moved back over to where I was standing, slipping the cigarettes back in the large pocket.

"Problem? I-" I found my mouth had dried out while I was gaping. I shut it and licked my lips trying to talk before he pushed me from the door and walked through, shutting it behind him. I gaped a bit at the empty room before spinning around and chasing after him. "The flat doesn't smell of it."

I always felt like I was playing catch-up when around Sherlock. I thought my hallucinations cheated a bit in that. I still had to mentally catch up but it wasn't quite as real as it was now. Now I also had to physically chase after him.

"Fire escape John!" He yelled from the living room as he plopped himself back down on his chair.

"Right." I guessed I would have to keep an eye on that then. The fire escape was through his bedroom so he could probably sneak out whenever he wanted. Not that he would be sleeping there because there was no bed. He could still find a way to sneak out there and smoke. Wait…

"You were on the fire escape naked?"

"Way to catch up John." He ran his hands through his hair pulling at some of the curls in the front before pushing it all back again.

So Sherlock picked up smoking again. That wasn't good. Maybe it should have been expected but what else did he pick up again? Everyone knew of his drug use. I wasn't around for it but as a doctor I knew how hard it was to go through withdrawal. Would he put himself through that again? He probably didn't expect to have to. He didn't expect to come back.

I walked over to my chair across from his and folded my hands over my lap. How did you ask someone if they were doing drugs? That is without having them throw a fit.

"I can't take any more lies Sherlock. I've lived a life of lies and I need the truth. I can't handle being lied to."

"And you call me dramatic." He didn't look at me but I could tell he rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock…are you doing drugs?"

Best to be straight with him. And that was funny to me seeing as how we just kissed. Not exactly my straightest moment.

I might have still been a bit high off the hormonal and adrenaline rush that accompanied it.

He looked up at me but didn't say anything. His reddened lips were tight in a small frown. I supposed that was from the kissing but I couldn't think about that. I needed an answer.

"Sherlock don't lie to me. Just tell me."

I swear sometimes I could hear his mind working when I could see him thinking in front of me. Probably trying to find out the best way to tell me without actually having to say it.

"Yes."

He said it in that emotionless way. He could have been talking to the scull. Which I guessed was gone now. Mycroft had it.

"What?"

"Cocaine."

"How long?" My doctor voice came out.

I couldn't be mad at him right now. Right now I needed the facts to see how I could help him off it. Again.

"Since South America."

"Which was?"

"Two months ago."

"How often?"

"Occasionally."

"Right. And how often is that?"

"I'm not some idiot! I am handling perfectly fine! I don't need a doctor asking me these questions!"

"Really and when was the last time you did it? When was the last time you were high?" He gave me that pursed lipped look again.

I knew he wasn't high right now. He wasn't showing any signs of it. The only reason he would be so quiet is if it was while he was around me. The last time I saw him was this morning before work and he wasn't…he was staring at the ceiling ignoring me but his fingers were tapping incessantly. All that pent up energy from having to stay still while I was in the room.

"This morning?"

"Very good John," he sneered. I took a very deep breath in and ran my hands over my face.

"You can't do this Sherlock."

"Telling me what to do again? I'm not in your brain John. I don't have to listen to you."

"There's a reason it's called the heart attack drug Sherlock. I can't lose you again!"

Well that shut him right up.

If I squinted I could see the guilt washing over him. His face didn't betray him though. I guessed I just knew him well enough.

"So please. If you'll just try. Just try and stop. For me."

"Fine. I'll stop. I've already started."

"When?"

"About a month."

The hospital call? I couldn't ask. I didn't want him to fight me about this.

"The withdrawal?"

"I've been dealing with it."

"Alone? Right. Stupid question."

"I'm not quitting the smoking."

I expected that. It would be very difficult to quit both at the same time. Though really he would probably just transfer his addiction of the cocaine to the smoking.

It was going to make the whole apartment smell.

We needed to figure out what to do with him. He needed something to do.

"Fine but only smoke outside." I moved to pick up my tea cup and bring it to the kitchen before a ring was made. As I reached the kitchen I popped my head back in and yelled, "With clothes on!"

I heard him groan, "But John-"

"Nope!" I yelled back from the sink.

* * *

**AN: **Remember, this is actually a Johnlock, I told you it wouldn't always be depressing.

And I know, you all are like 'Chelsea! You updated a day late!'. Yes, yes I know. But this chapter is very explainy and I tried to make it sensey.

Also because someone asked in a review if I was going to do a Sherlock POV. When I first started writing I wasn't, then I was a little, then I was going to write a sequel from his POV, then the review happened and I said _oh what the hell. _ So your next chapter will be a Sherlock POV. Yay. I already wrote it, I just need to make sure it lines up and edit later chapters so they don't repeat.

One more thing. You know how you guys threatened to kill me a lot? Lovingly? Well I threaten to kill you, lovingly, if you find flaws in my logic about his fake death. You still can, but I swear I will find a way to dispute them. Lovingly. It'll be fun all around.

If I missed something that you thought of for the fake death, let me know. I may have already written it in a later chapter but just let me know anyway.

Also, Rated T for drugs. That's apparently added into the mix.

Sorry for the long notes. Love you all! Thank you for the follows/favs and reviews. I never expected so many people to read this :) Reviews still make my life.

Love is being sent your way :)


	11. Chapter 11

**AN:** _Sherlock POV_**  
**

* * *

**Ring**_. _

I stopped mid-puff on my cigarette and looked over at the nightstand near my bed. There, lighting up the dark room, was the tiny throw-away cell I owned that week.

_Cheap model. Old model. Flip phone. Recently purchased. Little to no use._

**Ring**_._

I glared at it as it continued to chime. That phone was not meant to ring. It was for emergencies only.

_Call most likely coming from Molly as she is the only one with this number. If Mycroft wanted my attention, he has other means to do so. So Molly. Calling with emergency or bid for my attention? Most likely emergency. Eight months is too long a time to call for simply a bid for affection. Emergency. What kind of emergency? What could possibly need me be brought back to London? Death. Injury. Accident. All plausible. _

_Of who? Those are limited options. Molly? Calling, not her. Mycroft? Too high up, I would know. Lestrade? Possible. Likely due to his detective status. Highly susceptible to injury. Mrs. Hudson? Possible. Old age, frail immune system. John? _

_No._

**Ring_._**

_Call could be coming from Moran's men. Hacker found cell number. Scare tactic. Warning. _

_Moran's men find Molly, kill her and take phone. Scare tactic. Warning. Could kill others. Could kill...no. Cannot think of that._

_Must answer for more data._

**Ring_._**

I strode over to the table and picked up the phone in my hands. I flipped open the burner model and brought it to my ear. I paused and listened to the other line.

_Shuffling of papers. Footsteps from humans. Beeping noises from machinery. Molly. Hospital._

"Hello?"

"Sherlock?" Molly's voice greeted me on the line. She sounded rather relieved I did indeed answer. "Thank god. Its…well its John."

_John? No. I ruled him out. _

"He's in the hospital. He had an accident."

_Paused on use of word 'accident'. Not actual accident. Caused. _

_Caused by whom? Outside party? Attempt on his life?  
_

_Molly not explaining. Needs to be nudged._

"Spit it out."

"Your landlady found him passed out, in the kitchen." She sounded nervous, as per usual, stuttering about. "He had drunk himself sick and he'd taken some sleeping pills."

_My landlady, Mrs. Hudson, still lives in flat. _

_Drank himself sick. John didn't drink that much. Sign of stress and depression. From what? _

_Sleeping pills. John used to have nightmares. Sleeping pills to get rid of nightmares. Nightmares caused by PTSD. Drinking to relieve PTSD. _

_PTSD has returned in full. Psychosomatic limp no doubt accompanies his symptoms. _

"He fell and hit his head and got himself a concussion."

_Sleeping pills combined with alcohol increases effects. Makes user dizzy, confused, and feel faint. John feels side effects, struggles with limp, falls._

"Also a few burns and cuts but those were minor."

_Cuts. Burns. Cooking, irrelevant._

"He's alright now."

_Alright. In hospital. Drank himself sick, sleeping pills, pumped stomach. Concussion, overnight stay. John would not like that. Would not pay. Mycroft paid. _

_John would want to go home and have someone check on him instead of another doctor. Unless he had no one to do so. John is alone._

"And I don't want to say he tried to...um…you know."

_Kill himself. _

_Sleeping pills. Copious amounts of alcohol. Alone. _

_Plausible. _

I felt a pang in my chest at my deduction.

"But I spoke to your landlady, who is very nice by the way. She misses you a lot. We all miss you. I don't think she tells John how much-"

_Sentiment._

"Move on Molly."

"Right. Um…well she said he's been by himself and he's not really talking to anyone. I offered to talk to him but I don't know if he will. He seemed alright when I saw him. I just thought you should know."

_John is in trouble. Going through a rough time. Going through PTSD. Lives alone. Won't talk to anyone. _

_Do I visit?_

_Visit now; show I am alive, causes stress, leads to anger, leads to acceptance, I stay. I show myself and I cannot leave.  
_

_I stay; no coming back to take down Moran, can't leave again or John will weaken again. Cannot live with that. _

_I stay; Moran leads criminal world, remain dead, no cases, no work, no life. _

_I stay; Moran leads criminal world, find way to come back, work cases, at what price? _

_I stay; I stay with John._

_Stay here; keep working case, solve case and take down drug ring, diminish funds to Moran by 22%. No compromises needed. Continue to take down Moran criminal world. John moves on none the wiser. Molly calls me if he doesn't move on, make decision then._

_Visit after case; same as visit now, only Moran will be out 22% in funds. _

_Visit but don't show self; able to check on John without him being enlightened to my fake suicide, any qualms of his wellbeing will be discarded, able to deduce what he has done in the past months, able to see him and hopefully rid myself of these distracting sentimental feelings and guilt. _

_Visit but don't show self, best option. _

_When?_

_Now; leave case, ruin cover, miss drug lord, leave case to local police idiots, case ruined, can't help John._

_Later; case solved, cover kept, John in better condition, can't help John._

_Later best option._

_Problems? _

_ John could be worse off than Molly says. May be suicidal and try again. More guilt added to my conscious. _

_John most likely not suicidal. Military training, survival instinct. Most likely actual accident. _

_Seeing John may stir emotions previously blocked. May cause impromptu decisions. _

_Pause in between cases. Fill pause with more drugs. _

Briefly an image of John's disappointed face looking at me as I did drugs popped into my mind.

_John wouldn't like that. Previously blocked emotions starting to surface. Must re-block. Must get off phone. _

"Call me if this continues." I said hoping Molly would get off the line.

"Alright. And Sherlock," _Sentiment coming. _"It was nice to hear your voice. I really-"

I hung up the phone and flung it on the table.

I could feel the guilt and the worry start to bubble up in me. An imaginary weight settled into the pit of my stomach and I could feel my brow creasing from worry on its own accord. All these emotions. I couldn't control them from coming but I couldn't let them get the better of me.

I walked back to the chair I originally sat in in my dank motel room. I had deduced every inch of the room and it was at moments like those that I wish I wasn't so good. I didn't wish to run through it again.

Now was the time for me to push my emotions back down. I had decided long ago that they would get in the way of what I had to do. I had a lot to do. If I was going to take down the organization Moriarty started, then I was going to have to have no distractions. Emotions were a distraction. They were a liability. I may not have been able to control the ones from coming, that had to do with John, but I could put them in their place.

Through my death I was able to free myself of all ties. I freed myself from the people I grew attached to and those that grew attached to me. Under my false identities, no one would connect them to me. They were safe from what I had to do. I had to enter deep into the criminal world and I had to do it knowing they were safe.

I had to do it knowing John was safe.

Again the guilt started to bubble inside of me. I knew what I did was logical but it seemed I was prone to acting rather illogically when it came to John and his feelings. I cared for him too much and it was distracting me. Moriarty knew that.

I did not want him to witness my death but he had to. It was all really for him after all. I knew who Moriarty's threats were for. The others mattered little compared to John.

I had to leave John and he had to believe there was no way I was coming back.

I only wished I wasn't so good at what I did. Then maybe he would have found a flaw, pointed it out, and concluded the truth. I knew that was a stretch though. John had intelligence at the average level but my death was for people above that, on my level. The probability of him stumbling upon the truth was not in his favor.

I hated the part of me that wished that wasn't true. The part that wanted him to know, no matter the cost. That cost was just too high. John would die if he found out.

I ran over the phone call again in my mind. The worry I felt was quickly transforming into a hash concern for his well being. I wanted him to be okay and it worried me that he wasn't. I wanted to see he was living and breathing and that my fears of Moran's men killing him off were false. He had been alive this entire time. Going through hell. I wanted to leave right then. Screw the plan I made, I just wanted to see John.

But I couldn't. It didn't matter what I wanted. I hated myself.

I had expected him to handle things better. He was a military man, he had seen many deaths, we saw many gruesome murder scenes together. I knew grief would enter into the equation. There was always the possibility of his PTSD coming back. I didn't expect the use of alcohol and sleeping pills. I didn't like he caught me off guard in that way.

I liked it when he caught me off guard in other ways.

I couldn't think of these things though. If I was ever going to be able to go back home and see him proper, then I was going to have to stuff down these feelings and focus on my work until the case was over.

I sat down in the chair and ignored my smoldering cigarette. The second hand smoke would do as I entered my Mind Palace.

I closed my eyes leading my mind down the familiar path before opening them and seeing the doors there in front of me. I knew the path I had to take inside well, as I had done this multiple times while away from London. Almost every night I visited in order to control my emotions for John. It was ridiculous, the things that could spark my memories and feelings. Even the ones locked away.

I walked deep back into the recess of the Palace and found the wing devoted to the people I cared for. I never liked that wing very much. I didn't like the fact that I was subject to caring.

As I walked down the hall, I came upon the familiar door. I turned and was face to face with the door leading up to 221B Baker Street. I pushed it open and walked up the familiar staircase going up until I was in John's room. John's room of course looked the same as back home except for the back right corner. In the corner was a safe where I locked away these nuisances until I could better deal with them. I hadn't had the time before and I knew I wouldn't until I was back home in the real 221B apartment. That could be a very long time.

I walked over to the safe and unlocked the combination. The usual flood of emotion came crashing over me. I felt everything that I had been locking away and it was overwhelming. My body reacted to the impact; making me smile uncontrollably, making my heart race, and making my breath quicken.

Pictures stuck in time danced around me. Sentimental items bounced over my head; John's mug, John's cane, my purple shirt. I smiled at the purple shirt. As I reached out and grabbed it, the memory of John looking me over, not being able to take his eyes off my chest and lingering a bit at the neck, entered my mind. It was like a personal play for me as I saw the image of John looking at the image of me. It was like a very life-like hologram. My image of him was flushed, uncomfortable, playing with his fingers.

_Newly found and unidentified sexual attraction. _

As I thought, my mind echoed around me. I had my own PA system in the Palace. I smiled at the thought. There was something just admirable about John when he looked like that. When he looked at me like that.

I let the shirt go and it floated into the air with the other things. The holograms disappeared with it.

Then I started to create. I had to create something to hold how I was feeling now, to contain it so it could be kept safe in the vault.

Briefly before I had thought about deleting these thoughts and feelings but I never did. It would have made my life easier, not remembering how I felt, but it was the thoughts and feelings that made me not delete them. It was a dreadful cycle.

I had to concentrate now. I did after all have work in the morning and I couldn't spend all my time in my Mind Palace with my memories of John. No matter how much I wanted to.

_Guilt. Worry. Need. Sorrow. Pain. Want.  
_

They all had to go.

With a brief thought I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out a phone. It was the burner that I just used. I put everything into that. Every feeling and all the need to see him.

When I finished, I let the phone go and it floated up above with the other things. I followed it with my eyes and saw it turn to reveal the front screen. Instead of the small clock the real burner had, this one had a small picture of John's face. He was smiling, waiting for me to come home. I could never forget that face.

* * *

It was a month before I was able to see John.

It took me weeks to finish up the case I was working on after Molly called me. I had obviously already cracked the drug ring but I needed the drug lord or there was no point to it at all. I had to build trust and be patient and all that nonsense before I got to meet him.

Then when I met him I deduced him and realized he was working for someone else. This I had already guessed as he was a part of the Moriarty crime web but it did make me question my next decision.

Those weeks were terrible. I had nothing to do but wait. I hated waiting.

Really I could have just gone to the drug lord myself but the police I was working with didn't think that was a good idea. It was horrible how I had to listen to them. They said they couldn't just 'take my word for it' and they threatened to throw me off the case if I didn't cooperate.

In most cases I wouldn't care about being 'thrown off the case' by the police. I would simply continue my work without them. But in this case, throwing me off the case meant throwing me out of the marina which meant making me lose my identity and my position. I had already been working too hard at keeping it, trying not to compromise it by the stupidity of other humans.

It was simple really.

I was working at the National Museum in Baltimore, Maryland, USA. It could really be sad how easily a document could be forged and how gullible people were when it came to photoshop. They believed I had my doctorate in marine biology, all with top marks. It also helped that I had a British accent. The American media had somehow skewed it so that if a person had a British accent it made them smarter. Ridiculous really but helpful in my case. It was too easy to get the job.

During the day I worked with, trained, and took care of the dolphins. They were good listeners. I always apologized at the fact that they had to dance for human amusement. It was below their intellect level. Much how working at the museum was below mine. I had to give tours and talk to people. Saying the exact same thing every day. It was very, very boring. I didn't even have to think about what I was saying, so I watched the people instead. That was slightly amusing.

At night I socialized with my co-workers. Finding the workers that were a part of the ring was extremely easy. I hinted at my drug use to them, hinted at a seedy past, without actually saying anything. Eventually they caught on, took them long enough, and slowly they roped me into their ring.

Their system was easy enough. The cocaine would come in with the shipments of food for the marine life, we would take it out to the dealers and collect their money. If they didn't pay up we would tell our muscle man who would ruff them up until they did.

When I gained my co-workers trust they invited me out with them to do said drug. I of course would oblige given I needed to keep up appearances. I had already been using so it wasn't going to change anything in my schedule. My schedule was dull anyway.

Every time they invited me, a small nagging feeling would tug from somewhere in my mind. John wouldn't like it. I knew it and it was distracting me. No matter how many times I locked that thought away, back in the vault, it always crept back.

I decided to face it instead.

I still did the drug but I used less and less. I eventually got myself to do it only when they asked me out, about two times a week. I smoked my cigarettes much more. I knew John wouldn't like that but I didn't care.

One night they talked about the big boss coming to town and how they were going to introduce me to him. I accepted the invitation and waited. Waited and waited and waited. The domestic normalcy of my life was excruciating.

Well I met the big boss and instantly figured out where he lived and where his business was run from. I let the police know and they geared up to make an arrest. This was a giant drug circle that they were taking down. Moran was not going to be happy about it. That made me smile.

When I met him I also deduced that he was working for someone. A woman. I could have gone further into that, in fact I should have, but there was that nagging thought again; _John._

I hadn't gotten a call from Molly so most likely he was alright, but that didn't stop my mind from reminding me that I agreed to see him when I closed this case. This case was closed and I was meant to go after him.

There were problems.

Moran would be weaker while trying to figure out what to do about the arrest. No doubt his lackey would come to find me and give me a warning. They let me play but only for so long. When he came though, I knew I was getting close to something.

I had found someone even higher up on the criminal chain and I had the chance to find them and take them out. That would require much more time and energy and in that time something could happen to John.

Leaving would chance Moran getting his thoughts together and installing someone else in the drug lord's position. I knew that was very possible and I would have to leave the police to take care of it.

Then again if I stayed and something happened to John, the thoughts I locked away would torment me forever. I could never lock away that much guilt. I'd have to do something drastic, which I was not ready to do. I could never delete John.

I made my decision.

I would warn the police, however doubtful they would be able to handle it, and go and see John. I would only visit as I said and pop back.

I would be relocating anyway. My co-workers were average but they were not stupid. As soon as they invited me to meet their boss he was arrested. In fact, they were probably dead already. I would have to move and change my name again and go after the drug woman from a different location.

So I flew. I gathered the things that could not be dumped and placed them in a protected warehouse; secure laptop, most aliases, most credit cards. I took out one of my many credit cards provided by Mycroft and hopped on a private plane and made my way to London.

I had thought about dying my hair again. After I faked my death I dyed my hair red and changed my clothes. It was amazing how unobservant people are. I even stood behind someone as we watched a public TV showing the news cast about my fake death. She turned to me and said "What a shame", before heading off in a different direction. People make me so sad.

Eventually I could dye my hair back to its original color. My news story died down and people either forgot or didn't know who I was. As long as I avoided the England area I could look more like myself. I couldn't wear my clothes though. It seemed in every case I worked on I was required to wear jeans.

God awful things jeans are. Rarely do I ever find a size that fits me. Apparently I'm the only man on the planet who is this tall and this skinny. They never sit right on me. The ones that fit closest are always too tight. I feel like my legs are suffocating. Horribly uncomfortable.

Once case I got to wear suits. I couldn't wear my familiar style for fear of being recognized but at least they were tailored. I supposed tailor jeans were a possibility but a man who wore tailored jeans never did fit the character.

On that case I did get recognized. It was just by a stranger, no harm done to the case as it was already closing, but enough for me to steer clear of New York for a while.

I was traveling to London. I knew some people were bound to recognize me. I would have to take precautions. I didn't want to dye my hair back to red so I had bought a pullover black sweatshirt for its hood. The private airline I used was discrete so they would not say anything even if they did notice.

When I got to London, I made my quietly and efficiently towards Baker Street. That of course involved a lot of walking. It was good though. I needed my newly bought sneakers to look run down. I knew Moran would be watching John. He probably already knew I was in London. That didn't mean I couldn't try to hide in plain sight.

It was the middle of the day when I reached the flat, though you wouldn't be able to tell due to the vast amount of clouds and rain.

_Curtains drawn. Can't see inside. Mid-day. John's not here. Weekday means work. John will be gone for a few more hours. _

_Mrs. Hudson? No light on. Out. Errands most likely._

I had a few hours before I would be able to see John. Depending on if he left the curtains drawn or not I would only really get to see his shadow.

_No one is home. Could pick lock, go inside, deduce apartment. _

_Problems? May see something that keeps me there. May lose track of time and John will see me. May want to stay. _

_Come back later when John is home. No temptation. _

_What to do in the mean time?_

_Need cigarettes._

With my hood up I was confident no one recognized me. I was able to buy my cigarettes and scoot into an alley to smoke them away. I knew what I really wanted was another hit of cocaine but I didn't have any on me. I would have to find a source. I had my old contact. It was the middle of the day and he was probably still sleeping but he wouldn't spill about my return.

Unfortunately he did not answer me right away and I was left to wonder they alleys. Not many drug dealers were around in the middle of the day but I was able to find the hot spots and follow the trail to someone useful. One transaction of cash for drugs later and I had what I needed.

It took time though. As I was able to smoke my cigarettes I would not be able to get the high I needed before I saw John. I did not want the two to coincide for fear my judgment would be clouded. So I walked back towards Baker puffing away.

Along the way I heard two pairs of footsteps following me.

_One male, wearing boots. One female, wearing boots with heel. Synced walking, have been walking together for at least two blocks. _

I turned abruptly down a different street and heard them follow.

_Quickened pace. They know I'm onto them. _

_Moran's people? He usually only sends his scout. Could be other. I have many enemies from the people I've placed in prison. Someone recognized me. _

_ Drug dealer. Only one I showed my face to. Very good at not showing surprise or emotion. Very well trained. _

_Must lose tail and find who he works for._

With that I started the chase. I ran and ran bobbing and weaving out of alley ways. The footsteps behind me started to run and I ran faster. It was easy for me to lose them as I climbed up a fire escape and onto the roof. I watched as they yelled at each other and split off to find me.

I deduced them quick but found nothing of importance so I took off back towards the drug dealer's spot. I found him and descended upon him without him knowing. I pushed him up against the alley wall and pinned him.

_Slight twitch in left knee, weak spot. No doubt ACL injury. _

I pushed his knee out against the wall and he gasped at the pain.

_Effective. _

_Trying to push off wall, tilts to his right, left handed. _

I grabbed his left arm and twisted it by the wrist and crossed it against his body to pin himself. He tried to push back but failed miserably.

"Who do you work for?" I growled out at the man.

He didn't answer me.

"Fine."

I pulled away quick and gave three well placed blows. One kick to the bum knee, blown out. Twisted arm back around, falls onto bad knee, kick to back, falls on ground. Last kick to head, knock out.

I reached down and fished out his phone. I scrolled through his recent calls and found the number I was looking for.

_ICE. _

_Initials? No. No names affiliate with those initials in the London cocaine circles. _

_Persona? Yes. Connor Brine. Family business. Kills all men who betray him by dunking their bodies in Dry Ice. Head of cocaine circle in England. Never caught. Minor part of Moriarty crime circle. No doubt acted without Moran's permission. Must find him before Moran does. _

I used the phone to call the police feigning a worried pedestrian calling about a man beaten in an alley. I had no doubt the police would find the cocaine and money on him and put the two together. I had at least a little faith in that.

It was near time when John would be home. I had to make a decision.

_See John now; chance loosing Connor Brine to Moran, loosing information, lose lead to finding where he is._

_See John later; get information from Connor Brine, one-up Moran, bring Connor to police but would be revealed, leave Connor to deal with Moran having told me, Connor taken care of, still get to see John. _

_See John later is best option._

That decision was made and I ran down another alley and picked out the phone. The phone number would be easy enough to track. All I needed was a computer. I walked to the nearest coffee shop with wifi access and provided computers.

A few branching internet searches later and I had the address of the person the drug dealer called. I was on my way to 56 Broadwick Street home to Connor Erikson aka Connor Brine.

I let night fall as I kept watch on the apartment. On the outside it looked just as any other apartment complex. I wanted to make sure this was indeed Connor's home before I walked in. No need to upset someone who could reveal me to all of London.

It was late at night when I saw him return home.

_Dark jeans, dark shirt, dark jacket. Doesn't want to be seen. _

_Rain spots on jacket suggest he was not recently here, he would have been soaked through if he was. Wherever he was it was raining lightly and he ran into his cab. Could be close by to London on edge of storm._

_Young. Somewhere in his twenties. Born into the business, took over due to family death. _

_Uses punch in code to get into apartment complex. 3357. Need more data to find significance in numbers._

He slipped into the door and I rounded after him, punching in the numbers after a moment of letting him walk ahead.

I saw him round down the hall and turn towards the last door on the right. I turned away pretending to fiddle with my keys as I heard his door click and he entered. I turned back and walked to the front of his door.

There would have been nothing significant about it, usual scratches, bangs, and scraps, but this door had an extra deadbolt lock that the others didn't. This deadbolt had a number pad and a place for a key though the number combination would obviously open the door.

_Could try opening door but lock could be automatic. If I try and open door the noises will make my presence known. Could guess combination. Up to six numbers. No way of knowing how many numbers are used. Can see the 3, 5, 9, and 2 are used due to wear. Two is used more than once. _

My thoughts were interrupted when the door opened in front of me and Connor stood there with his garbage bag in hand. I pushed in without hesitation and pinned him down against the kitchen table. It was not hard as I had the element of surprise and his hands were full. I glanced quickly around the room.

_Expensive furniture. Too expensive for the flat. All matching. All his own. _

_Stove never used. Eats out or microwaves. Stores drugs inside oven most likely. _

_Microwave overused. Quick dinners. Irrelevant. _

_Counters are messy. Newspapers from two weeks ago, doesn't have company over often. Under newspaper is small badge. Can see St. Bart's logo on bottom. Name reads Connor, no last name. Mail laid out. Mostly junk mail. Name reads Connor Erikson. Letter from mother not opened. Shape and size of most birthday cards. Dated two days ago. Problems with family. Jar on counter. Doesn't bake, not cookies. Large enough to hold small handgun. Lid slightly popped. Can't be closed due to what's inside. Definitely gun. _

_Doorway leads to other room. Cannot see other room at this angle. Cannot move from my position, cannot shift angles. _

Connor was struggling under me.

_Young and fit. Will best me in fight if he lands a good punch to my head. Must watch for that. Hint of tattoo of drug ring insignia on left arm coming from bellow t-shirt. Gun popping out in waist of jeans. _

"Get off me!" Connor yelled from under my pinning.

"Connor Brine I presume?" I asked in a mockingly pleasant tone. I felt him pause for a brief moment in his struggles but then he resumed.

"I don't know who you're talking about!"

"Of course you don't." I twisted his arms more making pain ripple through them and effectively making him howl. His legs swung out but I saw it coming and easily avoided them. As I looked down to make sure his legs were properly pinned I was able to see the floor more clearly.

_Hard wood. Real. Flows vertically towards door. Markings start under table. Lead towards sink. End covered by small mat on floor. Markings are horizontal to door. Fit snugly against wood. Wouldn't be able to see it unless looking for it. Large rectangle. Floor level. Trick door leading to sub level. Many possibilities for what it could contain. Drugs. Money. People. Bodies. _

"Your name is Connor, you take extra precautions to lock your flat, you keep drugs in your stove, you can afford leather on your kitchen chairs, you have a drug family tattoo, and you have a trap door in your kitchen. But no by all means I must have the wrong Connor."

Connor stopped struggling underneath me and tilted his head to look over at me.

"Holy shit. You're Sherlock Holmes."

"Amazing deduction," I said sarcastically. Really how many other people did he try and kidnap that day? "Now, would you like to tell me why you sent those people after me?"

"Let me up and I'll tell you alright?" It probably was very painful, the position he was in. He could still talk. Though I did want to get more information from him about Moran.

_Keep him down; safe, he tells me about himself, I leave without injury._

_Let him up; dangerous, he may tell me about self and about Moran but no guarantee, he may try to attack. _

_Let him up and take his gun; keep him safe distance away, get more information out of him by threatening to shoot in leg, may try to attack but I still have gun. Best option._

"Alright." I loosened my grip slightly, making it less painful but still pinning him. "But I want your gun."

"Fine." Connor agreed and I quickly slipped my hands off him and grabbed the pistol beneath his shirt. I stepped back, turning off the safety, and aimed it at his heart. He turned to face me and a smile came over his face.

_Small cuts and burn scars on fingers. Works with hands. Knife wound leading up right shoulder, 3 years old. No wedding ring, no tan, most likely never been married. Pasty complexion, spends most of his time indoors. Hair slicked back, has yet to take a shower. Changed into t-shirt, did not change pants. Receipt poking out of pants pocket, reads –tford. Suggests Watford. Forty minute drive depending on traffic. Most likely receipt for restaurant. _

"And don't go for the gun in the cookie jar." I added and his smile got bigger. I didn't smile though. I just waited.

"Wow. Sherlock Holmes in my kitchen. Who knew? How'd you figure out it was me who sent them? How'd you figure out who I was? How'd you figure out where I lived? How'd you get in here?" His awe turned into panic and confusion with every question. I smiled a bit at that.

"Easy when you think like me. Don't worry, no one knows I'm here." I wiggled the gun a bit. I did hope he could read subtext. I believed he did because his eyes went directly to it and to me. "Sit." I pulled out the kitchen chair and put the table between us. Never moving the gun from his heart. "You work for Moran."

"I worked for Moriarty." He answered.

_Frown. Use of word Moriarty instead of Moran._

"You don't like to work for Moran."

"He is my boss but Moriarty was a genius."

_Young. Definite signs of immaturity. This should be easy._

"You don't think Moran is as smart as he was?" I already knew the answer, I just wanted him to keep talking.

"No one was as smart as Jim." _First name. Familiar. Met in person? Not likely. Talked on phone more probable. _"Moran may be in charge but it's just not the same." He stopped talking again.

Maybe an emotional reaction. If he was familiar with him then one should come.

"Yes but Moriarty is dead."

I still was unsure if that was true or not. It was possible he also faked his death and continued to run Moran who run his empire. I wouldn't know until I reached the top.

"No thanks to you." Yes he was indeed angry that I brought it up. I could see his fists clench into the arms of the chair under the table. "You know I knew he wanted you gone. Jim made you die for a reason. I must say, I was a little shocked to learn you were still alive, but my boy swore it was you. Then my team comes back to tell me you ran away. That you got away. Again! But then you just turn up at my home. That's just convenient."

_So he did plan to kill me. Interesting. How did he expect to do that with a gun held to his head? Frontal assault? Table in the way. Hidden gun? Much more probable. Look for any sudden movements and react accordingly. _

"You didn't notify Moran before attacking me."

_Smile. He liked to defy orders. He liked to push boundaries._

"I also didn't notify Moran before I paid your friend John a visit."

_John?_

I pushed back any emotion and made sure my face was blank as I waited for him to continue talking. My finger twitched at the trigger. That was the only sign he had caused a reaction in me. It was too much.

_This man paid John a visit. He did it without Moran's permission. He knew how close I was to John. He knew Moriarty wanted him to suffer. _

"Yes, John. He was so beaten up. Drinking all that. Taking those pills." Connor spoke with utterly fake sympathy in his voice. "I thought the doctor would have been better at trying to kill himself."

_He knew about John's visit to the hospital. Molly knew, taken to St. Bart's. ID badge on counter._

"Impersonating a doctor is a criminal offense."

Connor smiled up at me. "Wow. You really are good." He said that a bit sarcastically. Then again everything he said was a bit sarcastic. He didn't like me.

"What did you do to him?" I asked. He had to be impersonating a doctor for a reason.

"Me?" Great. Now he was playing dumb. Infuriating. "I did nothing. I just wanted to check up on him, make sure he was doing…well, not well. In fact it's you that did something. Isn't it? How does it feel to have been the one to put him there?"

_Put him there? There was no evidence suggesting my death caused him to drink to that extent. It had been eight months after the fact. That would be too far for a correlation. PTSD was the trigger. _

_Connor knew too much. He must have been trained by Moriarty. He was trained but found to be too ordinary. He developed a fatherly love for the man, his father having died at a young age according to the file I had about their drug family in my mind, his mother being distant. He wanted the love of a parent. He wanted to make Moriarty proud. He pushed the boundaries Moran made because of a sort of sibling rivalry. _

_I could ask what he meant by 'put him there' or…_

"How does it feel to watch Moran run the empire Moriarty promised you? How does it feel to have to follow his orders now that Jim is dead?"

_Clench of fists. Red coloration in face. Clench of jaw. Flaring of nostrils. Flexing of muscles. Slight squint of eyes. Anger. _

_Here it comes. _

_His hand is twitching under the table. No doubt gun under table blocked from his pinning. Must stop him from reaching it. He plans to kill._

I aimed my gun for his hand instead of his heart but it was too late. I heard a loud _bang_ and Connor stopped. Blood started to trickle from the side of his head and he fell forward onto the table.

_Dead. Gunshot. Sniper shot. _

That came out of nowhere. I jumped from the noise and I ran over to his side and saw the gun he was reaching for. Another small handgun, no doubt more hidden everywhere in the apartment.

I could see the other room clearly now. The bullet had passed through a window, through the living room, through the kitchen doorway, and into Connor Brine's head.

_Killed when trying to kill me. Moran wants me still alive._

It was slightly comforting as I ran from the man's apartment. I was confident Moran would cover his tracks, making it so I was never there. I left the gun for disposal too. I needed to travel light anyway.

* * *

That night I spent with the homeless. I avoided where I usually went to acquire help for cases and slipped into a different alley. I spent the first part of the night coming down from the high of the case. That had actually been mildly entertaining, especially in comparison to the last one.

That feeling left me though and I was left wanting more. I tried to spend time in my Mind Palace, pushing back the emotions brought forward by his mentioning John. After a while though it still wasn't enough and I reached into my pocket and fished out the cocaine. I had time to get high now.

So I did. I spent the night getting high and staring up at the sky between the buildings. When the effects wore off I found myself tired and I managed to sleep on the ground for a bit. It wasn't' too wet where I was. It was uncomfortable but my body was fighting me for sleep.

When I woke, I found I had missed the opportunity to see John before he went to work. I yelled at myself internally for sleeping but my body just grumbled back at me. I supposed I should try eating since it had been four days since the last time I nibbled.

With the rest of my time I went about my day getting some horrible food, getting high, coming down from my high, deducing people in the park, smoking, and trying not to go insane with boredom by forcing myself into my Mind Palace.

In my Mind Palace, I filed away what had happened with Connor Brine and the information he gave me. I still was unsure if I could believe him about not doing anything to John when he faked being his doctor. It was just something I was going to have to wait and see when I saw John that night.

When I came out of my Mind Palace I poked my head over someone's shoulder to glance quick at their phone for the time. I read that it was Saturday.

_Saturday!_

I was the idiot who didn't keep track of the days, as there rarely was a point, but forgot that today was Saturday and John would not have work. I quickly made my way over to 221B Baker and stood across the street. The curtains were cracked open now in our apartment but no light's were on. Mrs. Hudson's apartment was still dark.

_Not errands. Out to her sisters. _

Eventually a cab pulled out in front of the door and John popped out to pay.

_Cab. John walks unless he has a limp or headache. Unless it was far. Could be as it was a Saturday and he had no bags for groceries. Limp most probable from information Molly gave me._

John walked out towards the door.

_Cane in use. Limp has indeed returned in full. _

_Pattern of fishing for keys is familiar. He never did get them out ahead of time._

John disappeared and I waited as he made his way up the stairs. The lights popped on and I could see him through the sliver in the window.

_Gray hair more discernible. No doubt due to stress. Lines on face darker as well. _

_Fishing out leftovers from fridge and putting them in microwave. _

_Still wears ridiculous jumpers. No identiy crisis. He's still John._

Just like that I heard a crack in my mind and all memories and feeling I had about John flew out of the vault and hovered around me.

It was overwhelming. I couldn't focus on one of anything. Everything just kept spinning.

_Guilt. Happiness. Fear. Worry. Anticipation. Sadness. Excited. Relief. Concern. Want. Need. _

Everything spun and started to talk at me through the PA system in my mind.

_Go see him._

_No I can't go see him._

_Yes you can. _

_If I see him, I'll have to stay. I can't leave him again._

_So don't leave him again._

_His life will be put in danger. If I see him Moran may kill him._

_He likes danger. You can let him know about it and you can work it out with Moran._

_Working it out would mean no cases._

_Would you rather work cases or would you rather talk to John?_

_It's not about what I would rather do. It's about what I have to do._

_And what you have to do is see John. Besides you have an obligation to see him._

_Just because I'm here doesn't mean I'm obligated._

_You're obligated to see if that doctor did anything._

_It's been a month._

_You'll still be able to tell. He's your John._

_He is my John...But I can't see him._

_So leave. Can you leave right now?_

_I'll just watch him from here._

_Oh god you are so pathetic!_

_I'm not pathetic! I'm practical!_

_If you were really that practical you wouldn't have come here in the first place._

_Fine then I'll just go back._

_Fine. Try._

I focused in on the window instead of my mind. I didn't move.

_Oh shut up. _

_Just see him. He deserves to know. You know he deserves to know. Waiting until you take down Moran will take too long. He'll have forgotten you._

_He will not forget me._

_How can you be sure? In old age comes memory loss, along with such things as Alzheimer's. He had a concussion. Who's to say there wasn't memory loss in that already?_

_Well then let him forget me. He's better off._

_Could you live without him remembering you?_

_Yes._

_Physically maybe, but could you really?_

_If I deleted him._

_Could you delete him?_

_No. It's him that keeps me eating and sleeping and not overdosing on cocaine. If I deleted him it would leave too big a hole in my Mind Palace. I would know something was missing and I would search the world over looking for what it could have been. It would be a bigger distraction than what he already is. _

_So go see him. He could use the good news._

_He does show the wearing signs of depression. _

_Exactly. So go. See him before it's too late. _

_Right._

My emotional side won out and I walked up to the door. It was easy enough to get in and I took each step up quietly, skipping over the one that creaked. I could see the scuff marks from John's cane and the fingerprints on the rail.

I stood in the open doorway just listening. He was running the faucet, pouring a glass of water, drinking a bit and setting it down.

_Taking a pill._

I listened more and my heart started to pound, my breathing increased.

_Anxiety? From what? I already made my decision, however stupid, and I was going to follow through. But I knew it was going to lead to something. Something was going to come out of this and it probably wasn't going to be good. But he was there. Right on the other side. I couldn't' turn back now. _

I walked over and stood in the doorway looking him over. He was the same. He looked a bit more tired but he was the same. He was my John.

Then he turned to me and I braced myself. No doubt the initial reaction was going to be shock, probably some panic, most definitely some anger.

"No." That stopped me straight.

_No? No what? Did he know I was coming? Did he not want me back? Body language indicates familiarity. Also indicates he's closed off. He doesn't want me there. How can he be familiar when he thinks I'm dead?_

"You said you weren't coming back."

_Said I wasn't coming back? When did I say that? _

_Clenched fists. Straighter back. Chin up. Military posture. He's showing signs of being mad._

"John?" I moved over to him to try and get a better read. He backed away from me and moved towards the sink. I watched as he leaned against the counter.

"Ugh! I was doing so well you know that?"

_So well at what? It wasn't often I was this confused._

"Why are you here? I haven't done a thing. Why are you possible here?"

_Haven't done what thing? I needed elaboration._

"John what are you talking about?" He wasn't answering me straight away. I relaxed my face and tried to concentrate harder, bringing my fingers to my chin.

"I'm sorry but I don't want you here."

_Military voice. Trying to control me. Wants me to leave but why? Who talked to him?_

"I've picked up my life again. You can't be here."

_Picked up his life. That would mean since the hospital stay a month ago. Something changed from then. _

_He is familiar with me. He thinks I said I wasn't coming back. Coming back from where? Here, seeing as how he didn't jump at my sudden presence. He thought I would come back if he did something. Did what? Did he see me when he did something specific? Was he seeing me?_

_He's too comfortable around me to have not seen me for such a long time. He was seeing me. He was trying to tell me to leave because…Ohhhhh._

"You don't think I'm real."

_Roll of eyes confirms. He believes this to be obvious information. He's making tea. Tea is familiar. He's trying to calm himself down. My presence had disturbed his normalcy. New normalcy if he's picked up his life again._

"Because you're not real."

_Confirmed belief. How to get him to believe I am real? It couldn't be so simple._

"Yes I am."

"Oh so we're playing that game again?"

_No it couldn't. _

_Again. I wasn't the first to answer in that way. His imagination created me and told him it was real. _

_He's showing signs of anger again._

"I'm as real as you are."

_How did I show him the logic?_

"Well then I must be dead. When did I die again?"

_Harsh sarcasm to keep his emotions in control._

"Sarcasm will not move this forward John. You're not dead, I'm not dead. We are both very much so alive."

"Right. I've just gone mad. Again." _He knew of his hallucinations. It's happened more than once. _"Almost four weeks. A full month. I think that's longest yet."

_That would be since the hospital. He hadn't had a hallucination since the hospital. How long had he had them before? Since the death? Eight months? Need more data._

I followed him as he brought his tea into the living room. He was able to move about the apartment with the limp better than when he first moved in, showing he had had it for a while.

"You've seen me before. More than once."

"Oh don't' pretend you don't know."

_He wasn't going to elaborate because he thought I already knew. He had indeed seen me more than once but each hallucination knew of the other. How many? He wasn't going to answer in this state._

_He keeps looking from his tea to around the room to his phone. He doesn't' know what to do. Has he not tried to get rid of his hallucination before? _

_Closing his eyes. Was he ignoring me? _

"What are you doing?"

"Closing my eyes." _Well obviously yes. _"When I open them, you'll be gone."

He opened his eyes and I raised my eyebrows at him. He frowned at the result and closed his eyes again.

"John-" I moved over to stand closer to him. I wasn't about to let him push me out. I only just got back.

"Not real. Not real."

_This is just childish._

"John."

"Not real!"

"John!"

"Not real. Not real."

_Dear god._

"John!"

"Not real!"

"John!"

"Not real! Not real!"

_Oh my god!_

"JOHN!"

"What?!" He finally looked at me but looked away to take a sip of tea.

"There really is no point in talking to you when you're like this."

_ I had to get him to see I was real and fast. This annoying, childish, pushy version wasn't going to listen to anything I had to say._

_What was the fastest way to get him to see? Physical touch. Quick and efficient. _

I poked him in the shoulder through his jumper.

"See there. I touched you. You can feel I'm real. So we'll stop with the-"

I stopped because he was laughing at me.

"Oh please. We've done this already." _Done what already? _"Listen to me I'm talking to you. I probably shouldn't do that."

_I had to ask before he decided he really shouldn't._

"We've done what already?"

"All this. Going from the beginning again?"

_Going from what beginning again?_

"You already told me the answer, there's no point in trying now."

_The answer to what?_

"You already told me my mind was working on a subconscious level, that I wouldn't be able to comprehend because I'm so stupid or idiotic or some other insult. You said even a dull brain like mine could create things, create you, and make you as real as if you weren't- as if he weren't gone." _He said you. He did in fact believe his hallucnations to be real at one point. _"_'I'm as real as you make me.'_" _Was that meant to be my voice? _"Or are you doing it different this time?"

_Different? He must have asked me something that he had asked the others. The others answered differently. Didn't he see that made me real?_

_They also called his mind dull. Stupid, idiotic, maybe. But he is not dull. It's part of the reason I want him around. He always finds a way to surprise me._

"See, now that's the difference. Your brain isn't dull. I wouldn't say that."

"Yes you would."

"No I would say you were idiotic, but your brain is not dull. You simply don't know how to use it."

"You are just trying to be him again." _Because I am me! _"That's it. I'm ignoring you. Either disappear or whatever it is you always do because I'm done talking to you."

"That's great. Very mature John. John? John? Are you really ignoring me?" I crouched down in front of him making him look me in the eyes. "I'm not some ghost. I'm not just going to go away."

He wasn't resaponding.

_How can I make him respond. Surely if physical touches don't work and answering things differently doesn't than there has to be something. Some outside force…that's it._

"Call someone! Bring them over, show me to them. You'll see they can see me too. But do try to make it someone we know. I don't need a stranger leaking to the press that I'm back."

_Or another drug dealer telling his boss on me and trying to get me killed._

John continued to ignore me and stare straight at the wall with his tea. He wasn't really thirsty, he was taking slow sips.

"You're not going to. Why not?"

I couldn't crouch in front of him any longer. I pushed up and started walking about the flat looking around it. I hadn't gotten a proper look till now.

_Dusted mantelpiece. Washed mirror. Scrapes on floor from kitchen chair. John doesn't use the kitchen chair, he uses his own. _

"By the state of this place I do say Mrs. Hudson hasn't gone anywhere. She still checks in on you quite frequently."

_I shouldn't have suggested her though._

"Oh but she's at her sisters isn't she?"

I looked over at him sipping away at his tea. I smiled a bit at his childishness. It was annoying but endearing.

"I'll take your silence as a yes. So if not her then Molly, Lestrade?"

I saw his mouth and left hand quirk at the mention of their names.

"What was that tension?"

_John thinks I'm not real and I'm trying to get information. He twitched because I came close to the right information. I want someone over, he doesn't. _

"Someone's coming over." I started to deduce out loud. "Not Molly. Molly wouldn't be one to come over here for you. Not unless you were dating and that is obviously not true. So Lestrade. He's on his way over isn't he?"

He didn't answer me and I walked over to him to make him listen. I also wanted to catch any other subconscious twitches.

_Lestrade is coming over. John is dressed to leave the flat. _

"A Saturday night ritual is it now? You two had a fight. You patched things up and make up for it by going to the pub every weekend. You don't always look forward to it. Based on the lack of beer cans and emptiness of the liquor cabinet you don't drink. You don't want to cancel though because it was your fault. But what about? A case? No why would you be working on a case. His personal life? Not unless you were dating his wife...oh no, ex wife. Which your morals are too good for that. Plus she is a known cheater, not up your ally. So what else could you have in common?"

I wasn't really asking.

"Me. The fight was about me."

_Bare walls, bare table, bare mantelpiece. Dusted but lines still slightly visible. Nails left in wall. A few pictures of John and his family. Not many things replaced. Obviously no new roommate. I knew that before entering. _

"Based on the fact that my things were not cleared out until recently I could say the fight was about your hallucinations. You said the last one happened a month ago. The fight was before that. Perhaps he found out how bad you were doing and confronted you. You struck out at him, making the fight your own. So you go out with him instead of inviting him here suggesting that is where the fight took place."

I looked over at him and he was still trying to ignore me. I continued because I knew he couldn't actually hold onto that.

"You don't invite many people here. In fact Mrs. Hudson is the only person to come in, that is since the move of my things. You haven't had a date. You haven't been looking. If you had there would be the smell of a woman's perfume on your best jumper, to which you are wearing, or a trace of her hair somewhere. There is not. If you tried you could get a woman but you do not feel you are ready for a relationship. You were never a one-night-stand man. Well you were in your army days but you have since grown. I could go on but I'm afraid you've stopped listening."

I wasn't really afraid of that but I wanted him to say something. Anything really.

"Brilliant."

Sarcastic response but still a response.

"Are you not going to ask how I-" _Know you don't invite many people over?_

"No not you, me. My brain has never been that good with deductions. Or at least not that specific. I just deduced the hell out of myself."

_His hallucinations impersonated me well. He couldn't be that good though. He does have an average mind after all._

"You couldn't have. I am the only one that can do that. Now as I have begrudgingly repeated myself, I am real, I am here. Now stop being an idiot!"

He closed his eyes at me again. I rolled my eyes at his closed ones.

"Why are you not disappearing? You're just as annoying as he was."

_There. That was something. _

_I could leave like he wanted. I could disappear. I got to see him and talk to him and he still thinks I'm dead. It was the perfect compromise. I could leave and he would be better again and I could return to the work._

My emotional side started to swim about in my mind again.

_How could I leave? I just got to see him and he doesn't even know I'm here._

"I'm not leaving John."

_I needed him to know. It wasn't fair. I needed him back. _

"I am staying until your tiny brain comprehends I'm real!"

"Bloody hell. Fine. Stick around. I'm not talking to you though."

"I believe you just were."

"Shut up."

_Keeps looking at clock. Expects to be leaving soon._

John moved to the living room and flipped on the TV. He pulled out his phone and texted Lestrade.

**_Can you call when you get here? I'll meet you downstairs. – JW_**

_He doesn't want Lestrade to know about me. He doesn't want Lestrade to think he's hallucinating. He thinks he can handle it. _

I needed to find a way to get a third party to come forward without letting John know. I would have to make it look accidental.

In the meantime, I needed to try to get him to tell me more.

"Another fine night watching brain numbing television. Fantastic. Really John even you know there are better uses of your time. At least watch the news. If you're not going to talk to me I'm going to need a case to work on. Anonymously."

_For obvious reasons. _

Who knew how long it would take John to come to the realization of me being there? I couldn't be bored forever.

"That brings up a fine point. I'll just call Lestrade myself. John, hand me your phone. I'm afraid I don't have one at the moment."

I really didn't have a phone.

_If I use his phone and Lestrade answers with shock to my voice then he'll see I'm real. John can't mimic my voice._

"John?"

He wasn't handing me his phone. I reached over and tried to get it from his right pocket, the one he just put it in.

"Hey! Whoa! You can't have it alright?" He was squirming away from me, putting up his hands to block me. I dove forward and tried to dig it out. John spun and turned and pushed me away until I was lying half on top of him and he was pushing off the ground to keep himself on the couch. "I said no alright!"

I sighed but sat back on the couch.

_No point in physically hurting him. Yes, I'll get what I want, but he'll be mad._

_Could use apartment phone. Cracked through the middle. No attempt to be fixed. _

"And you broke the landline."

_Width of breaking mark matches width of back of kitchen chair exactly._

"With the kitchen chair? Really John."

"It was ringing."

I smiled at him, though he refused to look at me.

"From what I understand, tradition dictates that you answer with a hello, not with the back of a piece of furniture."

"Since when have you been one to follow tradition? Since when has _he_? He."

_Tries to disassociate hallucinations from real thing. I am real thing. _

"You can say you. I know what you mean. And yes I must agree. It does seem like something I would do."

_Laptop on desk. Looks almost the same as when I left. No new wear and tear. _

"You haven't been online in a while"

_He always used to go on his computer. To work on his blog. If he wasn't using his computer…_

"You stopped working on your blog."

"Is there a point to this?"

_No blog. No people over. Television._

"With the way you fill your life no wonder your limp has come back."

I looked at his cane on the ground.

_Significant use since last needed. Not enough for eight months._

"But not continuously I see."

_What would cause it to disappear? My presence made it disappear years ago. _

"Has seeing me caused it to go away? When you picture me does the limp disappear?"

I picked up the cane for further inspection.

"The cane is not run down enough-"

"You know it's not really impressive when I already know everything you're saying."

"And therein lies my problem in proving I am real. You will only see the parts of me that you think you are projecting. In deducing you I am telling you things you already know. If I tell you things you don't know you will still think it is your mind making it up. Including how I faked my own death. I'm sure you've already come up with ideas for that. Physical actions will not prove it to you. Therefore, we must wait for Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson. When does she return?"

"Another two days yet."

_Two days of trying to prove I'm real to a stubborn John. Fantastic._

**Ring_._**

John's phone started to go off. No doubt Lestrade calling to let him know he was downstairs. He ran off before I could say anything else.

I walked over to the window and watched as they walked down the street.

_Clenching of fists. Rolling of neck. He's trying not to look back here. Trying and just barely succeeding. _

_How do I get him to believe me?_

* * *

**AN:** Writing Sherlock scares me. He's smarter than us all. I believe some of it worked, parts of it didn't. I also believe he thinks too fast for complete sentences so if that bugged you, sorry.

Next chapter will also be Sherlock to catchup to where we are now. I couldn't have put this chapter earlier without giving a lot away. After that though, it's up to you. If you really like Sherlock, I can put up more Sherlock chapters. If you don't want full chapters like this but still want Sherlock perspective, which you were going to get eventually, then I can do that.

Now for the sad part. I just stared college up again and that means I'm going to be super busy for a bit. I don't have any of the next chapter written and it may take me a while. I had hoped I would finish this by the time school started but obviously I can't write anything short. It'll be worth it though. So don't expect an update tomorrow, probably not even the day after. Hopefully I'll have it by the weekend.

Much love.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN:** Sherlock POV. Two chapter update.

* * *

I had time before John would come back home from the pub. I had to go over the feelings that surfaced again and put them back in their proper place in the vault. I couldn't let my emotions get the better of me while trying to get him to believe me to be real. He needed to see logic and I needed to be logical to show it to him.

I decided to go to my room to sort things out. I wanted to get more information on John's psychosis as well. I walked over to my room and tried to open the door.

_Locked. Shutting me out of his head and of the flat. _

_Need more data._

I walked back out into the living room and stood at the base of the stairs leading to John's room. I could have entered my Mind Palace in any room but more data would be in John's room. Then again he already did not trust me. If he found me in his room alone before understanding that I was real then that distrust could run deeper.

Then again, I could enter his room and leave before he returned.

I made my decision and ascended up the stairs. When I reached his door, something odd happened. The emotions had been running around my mind on the loose but none had surfaced completely, not while I needed to stay in the clear around John. I hadn't thought it would be an issue, me already on my way to stuffing them back into their place, but when I reached for the door to turn the knob I could physically feel the sensation of guilt rushing over me.

I couldn't go into his room without him there. I knew my feelings were stupid and there was no good logic in them but I could not open that door. I thought I should perhaps look into this guilt before I tucked it away to see why it was affecting me more than the other emotions I suppressed. Then again I really did need to stay in control of these unfortunate feelings until I had time to process them. That time would come when John did not need me to point out what was real in life.

I backed away from the door and sat down at the opposite wall. I stared at the door a few moments longer, knowing I would soon see it in my mind. I hadn't missed a detail. Each scratch was memorized to perfection.

I closed my eyes and traveled quickly to my Mind Palace, starting the process that I had grown accustomed to.

* * *

When I was finished and sure the pesky things would stay in their place I headed back down the stairs. John would be home soon, given the time I spent in my mind, and I needed to be ready for him.

The first thing I saw when I reached the end of the stairs was John's cane leaning against the far wall.

_Home from pub. In bathroom. _

I moved towards the bathroom door and stood looking at the door.

_Taking shower. Average time, seven minutes forty two seconds._

I decided to wait for him there leaning against my bedroom door.

_No doubt will greet me with same dismissal attitude. No alcohol drunk to soothe nerves of seeing me. Obvious logic will not get through. _

_Emotional triggers? John is easily susceptible to his emotions._

The water turned off.

_Which emotions? Anger? Sympathy? Compassion? _

_Don't know of hallucination's emotional catalysts. Play it by ear._

John walked out of the bathroom and I found it hard not to smile at him. His dripping hair created wet spots on his gray t-shirt covering the band of his baggy blue pajama bottoms. He looked so colloquial. So John.

I quickly pushed away the reaction knowing I had to concentrate on John himself and not how he made me want to smile.

_Looks at door, looks at me. Thinks I came from bedroom. Knows bedroom is locked. Not helpful in proving my existence._

_Must find way to enter bedroom._

"Oh how wonderful." John started.

_Sarcastic smile. Annoyance._

"I'm going to bed. Do try to wiggle your way back into my subconscious while I'm sleeping would you?"

John started to walk away and towards the stairs to his bedroom. I ended up smiling a bit at his back as he shook some of the water from his head and pulled at the hem of his shirt.

_Cane left leaning on wall._

"I was right. You're not limping as much."

_Scoff. Annoyed that I was right. Nothings different there._

_Next emotion. _

"Where shall I stay?" I asked as I followed him.

_Slight hesitation in walking up next step. Question caught him off guard. _

"Well you're not real so I really don't care."

_Still very defensive. Thinks if he says I'm not real enough times, he'll believe it. _

_Play up emotions. Maybe get into bedroom._

"But John I'm tired." I added a bit of a whine to play up his annoyance and to bring out his paternal instincts.

That wasn't completely untrue either. I doubted I could sleep but needed to keep this much attention on my emotions was draining parts of me I was not used to using.

John turned to me at the top of the stairs.

"See, you aren't real."

_And we're back to sarcasm._

"As much as you would like to believe I am running on robotic parts, I am indeed human." _Playing up his guilt from night in lab._ "I do get tired on occasion. It has been a long trip here and unfortunately my body-"

"Yeah, yeah I get it. Tired. Again, not real. Don't care. I'm going to bed."

John turned to open his door.

_Plain dismissal. Need more data._

_More guilt. _

"I suppose my own bed would due. That is if you haven't gotten rid of it along with-"

He slammed the door in front of my face.

_Annoyance turned into anger. Emotional stimulation working._

I turned the knob to his door and entered his room. He took a moment to glance over his shoulder at me as I shut the door and looked around.

"Huh. I've never had one follow me to bed before." John said very sarcastically.

I looked around and found everything to be almost exactly the same as I had memorized it. There were more scratches on the floor from his cane. There were more books scattered about. The laptop charger was unplugged and not in its usual place by his desk. His desk had barely been used. There were multiple rings from his cup on his nightstand. Most else was the same though. Miniscule differences.

"You're lying." I answered him and I moved my search of his room to the direction of his bed.

"Can't lie to myself I see." John said with another fit of sarcasm. He did rather seem stuck in that mood.

_Averting eye contact, glances at bed. Ah, his bed was also different. This was not the bed of a man who was alone. _

_Right side dips lower. Bed too small to choose side. Pillows moved to cover both sides, mostly on right but enough for a second person on left. Bed too small to fit two comfortably unless two are touching. Date would be presumable but no date has been here. No real person._

_Shares bed with hallucinations. John would still be touching hallucinations in sleep. How close was the relationship between John and his delusions? Close. What did that mean? Needs further evaluation._

Instead of going into the evaluation at that moment, I decided to wait to enter my Mind Palace to do so. Things were always much clearer there.

Instead I told John of my deduction and found it met by another defensive maneuver. He muffled out my words by slamming a pillow over his head, closing out my reasonable logic.

_Embarrassment._

I smirked at him before turning back to his desk. It seemed I would not be getting him to speak further so I would have to get more data by entering my bedroom. I could pick the lock on the door but it would be easier to find where John hid the key.

_Kitchen drawer; too obvious. Too tempting._

He was trying to shut me out, lock me out. He would need to work on doing that.

_Room; Closet? Too far. Nightstand? Too personal. Bookcase? Too dramatic. Desk? Most likely._

_Where on desk?_

_Not in visible place. In drawer. Which? _

_Top? Too close. Bottom? Most likely._

_Left or right?_

_Left? Scratches. Fingerprints on handle. Used frequently. Not likely._

_Right? Less markings. Less frequent. Most likely._

I opened the bottom right desk drawer and sure enough there was a small box tucked into the back corner.

_Velvet. Made to hold jewelry or medal. Precious object inside. Sentimental to owner._

I reached down and fished out the box smirking as I lifted it open and saw the key to my room inside.

That was too easy. Picking the lock probably would have been more fun. If I hadn't already done it hundreds of times before when I was bored.

I left the room and John, closing the door behind me, and headed towards my bedroom.

One key in lock later and I stood in the doorway of my very empty room. A thin layer of dust coated every empty surface. It seemed he had gotten rid of everything that was mine. Everything that would have reminded him of me.

The sight of the empty room brought the ghostly feeling of a weight dropping on my chest. It didn't make any sense. I didn't have any sentimental feelings towards my things. Even if I cared for any of it, John would not have gotten rid of it. He wouldn't be able to throw my things away.

_John got rid of everything._

Everything. That word brought the weight down harder.

It wasn't as though I expected him to keep my things. In fact I had thought he would rid himself of them much sooner. Why was the fact that he did as I expected bothering me? What could I have wanted him to keep?

Though, there really was no need to get rid of my bed. Why would he need to rid of my bed? There were no sentimental connections leading its presence to me. There were no memories for him there. Not when I was alive anyway.

_John slept in my bed._

The realization quickly floated in front of my mind.

_Of course he did. Not at first, he didn't even live here at first. No, it would be later than that._

The thought brought a small smirk to the corner of my mouth. John was such an ordinary man. Needing to feel comforted in his grief. He chose to be comforted by me. Even when I wasn't there.

I moved to the middle of the room and sat down leaning my elbows on my knees and leaning towards my raised hands until they rested under my chin.

I knew I wanted to go to my Mind Palace. I could feel the John emotions rattling around, trying to get out. They had to be put back before they got out.

I also wanted to analyze the relationship between John and his delusions. I would have to create a new folder for that. I wouldn't be able to conclude anything until John talked about it more. That would mean waiting until he realized I was real.

_Ugh, more waiting. _

* * *

When the time came and I exited the safety of my Mind Palace, the sun was already high in the sky.

_John will be up._

The thought was conflicting me. I both wanted to smile at seeing him and be furious because he would still not accept that I was real. It would be very difficult to deduce his feelings towards me when he thought I was a figment of his imagination.

I moved off the ground and towards the kitchen.

_No John. _

_Still sleeping. No nightmares. _

My theory of the relations between his PTSD and hallucinations was true. I wondered if my presence would cause the PTSD to return, when he believed me, or if my calming effect would be even greater than the hallucinations. No doubt the stress would come first.

The thought of having to wait for John to wake up was irritating to say the least. I only had a half a pack of cigarettes left and I didn't want to go out to get more. I doubted John would get some for me. I couldn't leave before he woke though. I needed him to believe me as soon as possible.

I had the cocaine left but I didn't want to be high when talking to John. I needed him to see my reason. He wouldn't see my reason if I was high as a kite.

_How do I wake John up without him being mad?_

_Loud noise, mad. Water to face, funny, but mad. Rock bed, mad. Rock John, mad. Call, no phone. _

_I could light something on fire and waft the smoke under the door. John smells it, jumps out of bed for fear of fire. Most definitely mad. _

_This is no fun. _

_Coaxing? _

_John would never be mad at his mother. _

I ran up the stairs and cracked John's door open slightly. The noise didn't make him jump and I smirked at the room.

"Johnny," I called out in my best feminine voice. "Johnny dear, you have to get ready for school."

I heard a groan from inside the room and bit my lip to prevent myself from laughing.

"In a minute." John's sleepy voice called back.

"Now," I called back again before shutting the door and flying back down the stairs.

I allowed myself a small chuckle when I heard his door open and close a few minutes later. Quickly I picked up the paper on the table and pretended to be reading. No need to make him think _I_ woke him.

"Morning," I called out when I heard him round the end of the stairs. "Or afternoon rather." I added as I glanced at the clock in my peripheral vision. He groaned at me and I smirked a bit, bringing the paper up to cover my mouth.

Also in my peripheral vision I could see him looking me over again. No doubt trying to get a better look in the better light.

_Reddened cheeks. Dilated pupils. _

_Attraction._

I full on smiled as he turned away from me towards where he kept the bread.

"Oh god. I had hoped you were a dream." I watched as he moved around making his tea and popping his bread into the toaster. He was dutifully trying not to look me but failed multiple times. "What's with those clothes by the way? Are you experimenting a new look to see if I'm more accepting?"

_Hallucinations experimented with him. Or he believes his mind is trying to trick him into one. _

_No hallucination has worn these clothes._

_Lucky them._

"My regular garments were not acceptable for where I was staying. Also, no one recognizes me in _these._"

"Oh right." John turned away from me again. "No media. Gotcha."

_No media. What the hell did that mean?_

_Hallucinations couldn't be recognized. So they wouldn't be founded as false by strangers. Why else?_

_Not important. _

_Need to get John to believe I'm real. This is taking too long. He needs to stay talking to me longer._

"So what has your simple mind planned out for today?" I asked to prompt him into a conversation.

"I thought I'd go by the shop. I need to pick up some food for the week. And why am I answering you?"

John turned away from me again.

_Ashamed. He's ashamed he's talking to a hallucination._

_Still best to stick with truth._

_He didn't have anyone. He was alone. It was my fault. _

"Because you have someone to talk to John."

I saw him physically stop at my words.

_Swallow. Hands gripping counter. Pull in leg. Furrowing of brow. Tightening of lips. _

_Upset._

_John was upset._

"I thought I was doing better than this."

I watched as John pulled at his hair in frustration and pulled out his phone. His eyes darted down the screen as I assumed he pushed through his contacts list.

_Who could he be calling? _

_Friends? He wouldn't tell Lastrade last night. Why would he now?_

_Therapist. It would be the only one he would tell._

"You gave in to others. It's easy to fall back into habit."

_Staring at phone. Deciding whether to call or not. Never did want to need a therapist. _

_John was never one to ask for help. _

"You keep talking as if you're not one of them."

John stuffed his phone back into his pocket without making the call. I made eye contact with him and forced him to look at me directly as I spoke.

"Because I am not. I'm real."

He looked away from me.

"You're probably the most adamant." He turned back to his toast and lathered it in butter and jam. He was purposefully ignoring me and flowing back into his sarcastic tone. "No, the second one was. He was very pushy. Very angry. Very dramatic and emotional."

"I'm not emotional."

I knew I was speaking as if the hallucination and I were the same but how could John think me emotional? It was against my nature. He should never have pictured me emotional. In any form.

"Oh please."

He laughed at me. A heat ran through my chest and I felt my fists clench in response.

_Anger._

My mind informed me of the emotion.

How could he just not see what was clearly in front of him? His mind was just too slow. How could I have put up with this in the first place? Why was I putting up with it now? It was beyond anger.

"I cannot stand this John!" I threw the crumpled paper down on the table and stood. "Tonight we will sneak out and someone will acknowledge my existence without knowing who I am. I will wear a disguise!"

Not that I wasn't already wearing one. If John didn't want our friends to see me, surely he would be fine with a stranger.

"Yeah, not dramatic at all."

He turned back to me with his tea at his mouth and I saw his lips turn up into a smile.

_Fine. He wants to make me upset. I can do the same._

"Call Lestrade after your therapist. Make him come over now."

I watched as confusion crossed his face when I mentioned his therapist.

"How did you- Never mind. Stupid question. Very, very stupid question. And I'm not bothering him over this."

_Stupid question because he thought I was a part of his mind. He could read his own mind. How could he be so stupid?_

The anger wasn't dissipating and it resulted in me slamming my palms against the top of the table. Someone needed to see me for him to understand.

"Molly then."

"No I'm not bothering anyone."

He continued to eat his breakfast and sip his tea. As if none of this mattered. As if he didn't care about any of it.

"Ugh, you are insufferable."

"And therefore so are you."

I glared at him. He refused to believe we were two separate people. Maybe I could throw him off his train of thought. If I pointed out something derailing, he wouldn't be smart enough to realize what I was doing.

"What?" John asked as he sat down at the table across from me. I glared down at him and removed myself from the anger I was feeling.

"You slept in my bed."

"My god, you are the most annoying." He said as he pinched his nose between his fingers.

_No denial. _

I already knew why he slept in my bed but I was hoping that he would say so himself. I didn't need the information repeated back to me but a part of me thought I would find pleasure in his admittance.

"For about a month before the hallucinations came." I continued. "You had them for two months. This past month you have not."

"Until now."

"Would you just call Lestrade?"

His reluctance to believing I was real was beyond getting old.

He started to leave without answering until I heard him call "No" from near the bathroom.

My anger returned at his insolence and I ran out in front of him and into my room, slamming the door behind me. If that didn't annoy him, I didn't know what would. He thought that room was locked. Maybe then he would see only a real live person could open it. I highly doubted he could actually conclude that though.

I needed to reign my anger back in before I confronted him again.

* * *

By the time I exited my Mind Palace, the sun was setting and John was in the living room reading.

After analyzing the conversation I had with John after he woke up, I realized the reason John was acting like such an idiot was because he was upset himself. He wanted me around and he hated that. He wanted his hallucinations and he couldn't have them. That was what was truly making him upset.

When I confronted him about this, he did as I expected and left the flat entirely. The emotional turmoil for him was too extreme. He couldn't even confront it. I wondered what his therapy sessions were like.

When John came home from the shop he was not happy to see me. I knew he didn't want to face the turmoil. I was going to make him.

I started the conversation getting him to talk to me about something more general. Where my stuff was sent. I already knew of course but I needed John to start talking. Then I hit the spot.

"I've heard this before." John started after I asked about my equipment. "You want to know where your equipment went and then you go into some long winded monologue about how you need a case because you've been gone for so long but you can't have one. I ask you where you've gone and...well, that answer is always slightly different. Every time we talk about it."

"What do I usually say?" I asked.

This was exactly what I wanted him to talk about. I wanted to know more about what the hallucinations said and did. He needed to confront them to realize I was different. He needed to go back there. He needed to see I was real.

"That the great Sherlock Holmes couldn't kill himself over something that was obviously so fake." I watched him diligently as he spoke. "Only an idiot would believe the lies the tabloids printed. It was all part of Moriarty's plan. Mycroft was in on it from the start. Never made me feel better about it though. I didn't really believe it. Then you explain how you faked your death. I don't know where I come up with some of the stuff you say. That's why I allowed myself to think it was really him sometimes. I didn't think I was smart enough to figure a way to fake a jump like that. You then try to explain why you made me watch. Why it was me. You always apologize. Feel bad. That makes it easier to believe you're not real though. "I take it though. I always do. You always find some good excuse. Not that you needed one. I just wanted him back. Well then, after I accept your apology, you go into some tirade over what you've been doing. Sometimes it's hiding out. Sometimes it's fighting criminals underground. Sometimes it's watching me. Sometimes it's changing your identity. But you always find your way back to me. You always say you needed to come back. You always say you missed me and needed me. How could I push you away then? I just gave in. I believed. Not that I didn't believe for the longest time that he was actually back. Sorry. It's just easy to talk...when you're talking to yourself. And look at me I'm apologizing to myself. I need…"

Every word and every emotion I deduced that crossed over his face, every memory I could see laid out in front of him, taking place in this very flat, all of it. Each thing cut me somewhere inside I couldn't reach.

He created such an elaborate lie for himself. I broke him down to the point where he needed to. It took all my strength to keep my face blank.

_Maybe it won't be so hard. Maybe he'll understand my story because he's already made this one for himself._

I knew that was a lie.

"You're not that far off you know."

"Sher- I can't. Don't ask me to go through that speech again. Every time by the end I'm putty. I crumble into your hands again and again. You're not even real and I find myself melting away. I melt away from reality. I can't do that again. I promised everyone and myself that I would try and live my life. I have to get rid of you. Eventually I know I'll have to leave here. It's just…I need time."

I couldn't tell him. He wouldn't accept I was real just based off my story.

_He doesn't trust you. He's already slipping away_

When he finally looked at me I pleaded. "I wish you could just see what was in front of you."

"Yeah…I do too."

_What do I do now?_

He passed me and moved into the kitchen, presumably to make dinner. It was around that time for him. As he walked by I easily slipped his phone from his pocket. While he was turned to make his dinner I texted Lestrade. I couldn't wait any longer.

_**Come to apartment ASAP! Emergency! – JW**_

I turned the phone on silent and slipped it back into his pocket as he passed.

I asked him about the first hallucination he had. I believed he would tell me more if he didn't believe I was real. He would tell his hallucination because his hallucination was still himself.

The more we talked the more I realized he responded if I pretended to be the hallucination he wanted.

"You must have really missed him." I ended up saying when he finished the general story.

He looked at me confused. I figured it was because I not only dissociated myself with being real but I disassociated myself with being Sherlock. The other hallucinations wouldn't do that.

_How can he not see I'm different?_

"We already had this conversation. Why are you doing this?"

"I'm sure he misses you too. I'm sure he feels terrible for making you go through that."

_Oh God why did I say that out loud? The emotions are slipping out again._

It was true. Of course. But there wasn't any way he would take that well right now.

"I'm not going over this again. You're not here because I need you. You're obviously here just to annoy me."

_Not well at all._

"Could you forgive him?"

I knew I should have gone back to pretending to be the hallucination. To play the game. But I wanted to know. I needed to know.

_Can he forgive me?_

If not, I would have to leave.

"For?"

"If he faked his death and came back."

I saw his hesitation in answering but I bit my tongue and kept from pushing him.

"He made me watch him die. I fought for him. I fought for him when he wouldn't even fight for himself. His actions made me become the worst version of myself." My heart sunk at his words. "So yes. Of course I would."

How did he always manage to catch me off guard?

"But why? Every reason you just listed goes against forgiveness."

"Because along with the worst in me, he also brought out the best." I tried my best to hide the smile creeping at the corners of my mouth. Then John spoke again and my mouth opened on its own. "And because I love him."

I closed my mouth as best I could and found myself squinting my eyes in confusion. It didn't happen often and the muscles pinched from lack of use.

_Love?_

_Did I hear that correctly? Of course I did. _

_I always knew John was attracted to me. In a way he would never admit. We had a close friendship as far as I knew. He really was my only friend so I had no one to compare him to._

_But Love?_

I watched as his hand reflexively reached out towards my own. He flinched as he brought it back to his body.

_Tried to hold my hand. Holds hands with hallucinations._

_Because of…love. Love?_

_Does John love me?_

"You do?"

The anxiety was there but I knew why this time. I found myself wanting the answer to be yes.

_Why? Why do I want it to be yes? Why would I want someone to love me? _

_That would make things complicated wouldn't it? _

_Maybe I should go._

_I don't want to._

_Love?_

_I'd never considered love to be an option._

"Why do you keep pretending we haven't had this talk already? What angle are you trying to play at now? I can't deal with your games anymore. I want the truth. Will you still answer any question I give you?"

"I thought I had been." I wasn't proud of the shock I was feeling. This was an unwelcome out of body experience.

"Are you real?"

_Still best to stick with truth._ "I am."

"Why are you lying to me now? What changed between this time and last?" He looked at me as if I would answer. I wasn't about to tell him I was real again and that was what had changed. That and the fact that he now loved me.

_Love?_

I was dumbfounded.

He was verging on being too mad for me to say any of that. I stayed silent and he continued. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Probably."

"I can't believe this. You-" A knock at the door stopped him mid-sentence. I smirked as he jumped and I was brought back to the situation at hand. I knew who was behind that door. Lestrade made good time.

"Hey, I got your text and…" Lestrade's mouth flew open and his words stopped when he saw me sitting. I smirked at him.

_Finally. John will see._

"Lestrade? Are you alright?" John, the doctor, tried to take his pulse.

"Sher- Sherlock?" Lestrade gasped out. I wanted to roll my eyes at the obviousness of his question.

"Wait. You-you can see him too?" John asked looking back at me. I had the urge to wave but I didn't.

Lestrade nodded still gaping.

"How?" Lestrade gasped out to the room.

"Now that is quite the story." I smiled at the shock on both of their faces. Finally John would see.

"No." John yelled out before running off to the bathroom, slamming the door after himself.

I guessed I should have seen that coming. He wouldn't just accept the truth. He would run from it until he couldn't run any more.

"Sherlock? You're alive?" Lestrade was still gaping after me.

"Obviously." I said while looking towards the bathroom door. I doubted John would come back out on his own so soon but I wanted him to.

"And John knew?" Lestrade still seemed to be catching up. I huffed at him. Really what was so difficult to understand?

"He does now. Or at least he should."

Lestrade followed my gaze to the bathroom and something clicked in him to make him walk after it. I waited to see how John would react.

"John?" Lestrade called as he knocked on the door.

"Leave me alone!" I heard John yell from where I was sitting. He wasn't taking this well at all.

_He doesn't think Lestrade is real. That complicates things._

Lestrdae opened the door.

_John must not have locked it._ _No doubt, worse off than I originally thought_.

I pushed up from the chair and moved towards the bathroom.

"John? What's going on?" Lestrade was bending near a curled up John on the floor.

_Fetal position. Slight rocking. Clenched fists. Elevated breathing. Hidden face._

"Panic attack."

"But why? I mean obviously. I'm still not sure what's going on but he was fine when I got here."

_How do these people call this thinking?_

"His former delusions have caused him to lose grip with reality. He doesn't think either of us are real."

"What former delusions? What are you talking about?"

_Did I really need to define things for him now?_

"He never told you." As I looked around the bathroom I realized something. "He hasn't been having them." I fished through his medicine cabinet until I found them. They explained the pill he was taking the night before. "Ah antidepressants. Hand me his phone."

Lestrade took forever, trying to be careful of John I guessed, but did give me the phone with a "Here."

"Go make tea."

"I don't think tea will-"

_John likes tea. Tea is calming to him. It's what he always does when he's upset. How could Lestrade never notice that? Insulting, really._

"Now!"

I found the therapist's number under his contacts and clicked on the one marked 'emg'.

_Emg, short for emergency. Obviously._

"John is having a panic attack." I said interrupting the greeting she was giving.

"Excuse me?"

_Ugh. Infuriating._

"Why is he not on anxiety medication?"

_People treated for PTSD are given antidepressants and anxiety meds. The anxiety pills would be very helpful right now._

"John Watson?" She paused a moment as if I would answer her but continued when she learned I wouldn't. "He didn't want-"

_Didn't want any. Of course he didn't. Too strong for that. He probably didn't want the antidepressants to begin with._

"Well why did you listen to him?"

_Really was this woman even qualified?_

"Is something going on? Who is this? I'm afraid I cannot talk about my patients to anyone but-"

"You idiot."

"Look, if John is having anxiety problems, he can call me. Is he there? Can you put him on the phone?"

"No."

"Have him call me. Until then, for the panic attack, have him keep his body cool and work on breathing exercises. Two counts in and out. Then four. Then increase till a regular-"

"Yes. Fine." I hung up the phone not needing to listen to her slow paced talk a moment longer. I bent down in front of John and frowned when I found he had not moved. "Since you're an idiot and don't have any anxiety pills your therapist said to keep you cool and work on breathing like you had. Since I am the cause of this attack I am going to leave you alone. I'll bring your tea. Lestrade!"

_Really, how long could that tea be taking? We had a microwave._

I dropped his phone and his pills on the ground next to him, hoping it would be an insinuation for him to take them. I walked out into the kitchen and found a very flustered Lestrade.

"What is taking so long?"

"It's not my kitchen. I don't know where anything is!" Lestrade said as he handed me a finished cup. I left without answering and brought it back to John.

He was still curled on the ground but his head was lifted to rest against the wall. He had moved at least.

"Remember two, two, four, four, five, five." I said as I left. He would know what that meant.

When I walked back towards the living room waiting for John to finish calming down I saw Lestrade sitting on the couch. I walked over to my chair and faced him but not before noticing a bit of his stupidity.

"You put salt in his tea." I sighed. "Not sugar."

_The idiot._

"Oh. Should I-" Lestrade started to get up.

"No sit." I gestured him back down with my hands. "Don't bother him."

_John needs to do this on his own._

Lestrade did as I said. He couldn't seem to decide if he wished to look at me more or look at the bathroom door. He was clearly very confused.

"So John didn't text me-"

"No that was me."

"Because you're alive." Lestrade said stunned.

"Have I ever told you how brilliant you are?" I asked sarcastically as I waited for him to ask a real question.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on here?"

_That's not the question I would ask._

"I believe I've already explained John is having a panic attack."

"Yes but why? He was fine when I got here. Didn't he know you were…you know…"

"Not dead? No. He thought I wasn't real."

"Right. Delusions, you said. What does that mean?"

_Looks like I was going to have to define for him._

"Delusions. Misconceptions. Mirages. Visions. Hallucinations. Whatever you wish to call it."

"Hallucinations? John hallucinated?"

"Don't strain yourself Lestrade. I can see the little gears turning in your brain." I looked over towards the bathroom quickly as I thought I heard John move.

"John hallucinated you?" Lestrade asked, clearly trying to ignore my remarks. "When?"

"Three months ago for two months."

"Two months?" Lestrade looked back towards the door, sounding shocked, and stopped. I looked back and saw a very shaken John standing near the bathroom door. He had his antidepressants wrapped up in one hand and he looked at us both with wide eyes. He moved towards the center of the living room, as Lestrade and I watched, and he picked up his dinner and moved back towards the kitchen.

_Still in shock._

"John?" Lestrade called out when he entered the kitchen. He looked like he wanted to get up off the couch and go to him but thought better of it.

"There's no point."

_Not while in shock. Must wait till later._

I watched as John slowly popped back his pill and I moved to sit on the back of my chair.

"Why didn't you tell me you were seeing Sherlock?"

_Lestrade just won't listen will he?_

"I never would have left you alone. Is that why you drank that night?"

_Ah so Lestrade jumped to the hospital. Acceptable. It would give him an explanation for John's actions._

"Did your hallucinations make you do it?"

I watched as John pointedly ignored Lestrade and ate his dinner. I saw him smile a bit when Lestrade mentioned the hospital and suggested his hallucination made him do it.

_Not smiling because funny. Smiling because untrue._

"He did it to see the hallucination. Not because it made him." I watched as John's smile disappeared. I had spoken true.

"How do we prove we're not fake?" Lestrade asked me, giving up on John.

_Wonderful question. If I had known the answer we wouldn't be in this situation._

"I have yet to decide. I thought your presence would be enough. He's too far gone."

"Does that mean he won't be able to tell what's real?"

"We need a variable that is different about me. Different than the other Sherlocks he's seen."

_How to do that? I need to think._

"What about me?"

_How can I think with these stupid questions?_

"You? You're new. He doesn't trust you. He trusts me."

"Well obviously not if he doesn't even believe you're here."

I glared over at Lestrade. Leave it to him to point out that fact.

"Go home Lestrade. You're of no use."

"But-"

We both stopped when John ignored us both and walked up the stairs. I looked over and saw Lestrade get up and start to follow.

_He'll screw it up._

I ran after him and tried to keep him from going up the stairs. Lestrade effortlessly batted away my arms and made it to the landing outside John's door. I easily managed to catch up.

"Don't go in there." I spat at him as I blocked the door.

"Why not?" He tried to reach around me but I pushed him aside.

"Nothing you say or do will convince him you or I are real right now. He needs to calm down and you being there will not calm him down."

"Oh but you will?"

"I'm not the idiot trying to go in there."

"Well then what can I do?" Lestrade finally stopped trying to get through me and stepped back from the door.

"Go home. I will convince John we are real and he will call you later."

"And how are you going to do that?" I glared at him until he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. And I still want an explanation for all of this. After John gets better you're going to tell me what you did. I still think I might be crazed myself."

I nodded at him quickly and he walked back down the stairs and out of the flat. I was sure he was still in shock because he hadn't showed signs of a reaction to my lies or presence. I was sure he would deal with those when he calmed down and was alone in his apartment.

I sat down against the wall next to John's door. I needed to decide what to do.

_Find anomaly between hallucinations and myself._

I went through everything John had told me and everything I had deduced. I went through every aspect of the relationship he had with them. Something kept ringing out at me but I couldn't put my finger on it.

_Presence, prevents limp. _

_Shared bed, prevents nightmares._

_Hand holding, John initiates._

There was something calming about every part of the relationship. I was different. I was setting John off in a different way. He even admitted I was different.

_He said he loves me._

I internally jumped when I heard John walk out of his room and down the stairs. I had to act quick if I wanted John to believe me that night.

I walked into his room and stared at his bed again. I sat down and faced the door.

_John was in control at all times. His hallucinations only suggested. There were rules. Break the rules, break the delusion._

John reached his door and held it out for me. He wanted me to leave.

"Get out please."

"I'm not leaving until you see the truth."

"I do see the truth now please leave."

John huffed and shut the door and crawled into the bed on the other side behind me. I felt him move so he was on his side, most likely facing away from me.

I was past the point of no return by now. I needed to break the rules.

"Ask me the questions."

They were part of the game John played with each one. I would answer truthfully but different. I would continue to be different.

"What?"

"Ask me the questions you always asked them. That I would answer truthfully."

"I don't-"

"Ask."

_Stubborn git._

Stubborn as he was, John sat up and faced me as he leaned back on his headboard. I turned to face him. "Will you answer any question I have for you truthfully?" He asked with a lack of enthusiasm.

He was reluctant but at least he was playing.

"Every other time I said I would, but this time I will give you the truth. I will answer truthfully for most questions but not for all. I'm not ready to give an answer for some questions you may have. Next question."

"Right." He looked confused. That was good. "Are you real?"

"Every other time I would have said no or something to that nature. This time I can tell you, being honest, that yes I am real. I will not lie to you about that."

"I told you to lie to me once. How do I know you're not just carrying that over?"

That was new information. I was working based off the idea that John said the hallucinations never lied.

I would have to work around that. It didn't really matter after all. I would still be breaking the rules. The rule breaking would work. It had to.

"Ask the next question."

"Will you be here tomorrow?"

"As long as you believe me."

If he didn't believe me and his life was worse because I was constantly trying to prove my existence, if he was too broken to be fixed, I would let him be. He would be better off. I would trick myself into believing that to be the truth.

"Right."

_Three questions. My turn to play._

"Now I have a question for you."

"Great. This should be interesting."

_Ever with the sarcasm._

"Will you answer me with the truth?"

"I can't lie to myself now can I?" I would take that as a yes.

"Did you mean it when you said you loved me?"

I scoffed internally at how nervous I felt when asking that. It was all part of the plan though. I needed to know if breaking the rules would wreck our friendship or not. If it would break him further.

"I meant it when I said I loved him."

I nodded externally but jumped inside. I hated that I could feel so happy with him for agreeing with what he said earlier. It was just something else I would have to face in the vault.

_Love._

"Did you keep a physical relationship with you hallucinations?"

"Jesus. What are you trying at?"

"I'll take your avoidance as a yes." Not that I didn't already know. "How physical John?"

"I am not talking about this." John tried to avoid me and roll back onto his side but I pushed up further on the bed and leaned into his space. He couldn't lie down so he sat back up again.

"You slept next to them. You didn't sleep with them. No that would be a whole new psychosis. Two months. You only held their hand. Nothing more. Would you know the difference between the touch of a hallucination and that of the real thing?"

I had only touched him on the outside of his clothes before. I had only poked his shoulder. He had always initiated the things that happened with his hallucination. It had been him initiating.

"Are we done?"

I smiled at him and leaned in a bit further.

"Not nearly."

Before John could catch up to my train of thought I leaned forwards and grabbed his face in both my hands. I closed the distance between our mouths and brought our lips together. I felt John stiffen under me and smiled.

Yes, no hallucination had ever done that.

I started to move my lips against Johns and willed him to accept this was real already. This had to work. I had just broken the rules. I made the anomaly happen.

_Come on John. This is real. I'm real. Can't you see?_

I moved my hands down his arms and used his elbows to move his hands onto my back.

_Maybe if you touch me you'll see. It's different._

I ran my hands back up to his face and wrapped one up in his short blonde hair. I pulled away a moment to look over John, to see if his expression had changed from shock but it hadn't. I gruffed to myself and pulled him back into me. I moved my lips harder on his and pushed his mouth open.

_Come on John! Can't you feel this? _

_Kissing! No hallucination did that. I'm doing that. These are my lips. These are my lips on yours. _

_If you love me, you would feel this is real._

Then John finally started moving his lips back. Slowly his arms grabbed around me and pulled me hard. I didn't realize my physical reactions until that moment.

_Blood, rushing. Heart, pounding. Breath, panting. Warmth, everywhere._

_Arousal._

I moved my lips even harder on his and tried to wrap him up closer without actually moving. I couldn't scare him away completely. The last thing I needed was for him to go back into shock or have another panic attack. It was just so hard.

_See John! Yes this is real! This is all very, very real. _

I pulled away resting my forehead against his both to catch my breath and to look over his features. I smiled when I saw his eyes grow wide and his voice croaked out, "Sherlock?"

"Finally." I said with a sigh. He knew. He finally knew.

Now came the part that followed that. The part I was worried about.

"Oh god. Oh god. Oh shit. I…you're real. You're here. How? When? Where…were any of them you? Oh god. You're not...Oh god."

The emotional and overall confusion part. He wouldn't understand what was going on. He would try and put it all together but his mind wouldn't be able to comprehend it all.

"John don't have another panic attack. And alas no, this is the first time I am real. Still you've dealt with this once before."

"Twice actually but they weren't real. I knew they weren't real. You're real? Oh god you're real." He ripped his arms out from around me and covered his mouth. "Oh god I told you everything! Oh god you know. You…Oh my god."

He was worried about the fact that he told me he loved me.

"It wasn't like I didn't already know John." _I didn't really._ "Though I did want to see how much you would say if you thought you were talking to yourself."

"You're real. You're not dead. But I made myself believe…How do I know? How do I know that I'm not dead? How do I know that you won't disappear again? How do I know that the people around me are real? I don't know what reality is anymore. I don't trust people. I don't really trust myself. I made up my fantasy world but I wanted it to be real. My nightmares are vivid, for all I know they're what's real. My own reality is mixed with the two. How do I know I'm not dreaming? How do I tell what's real?"

My heart ached at his confusion but I was having a battle of my own right now. The John vault was not only bursting but it was screaming at me to come open it. I was slamming it shut and it was taking all my concentration. I couldn't talk to John when in this state.

"I cannot talk to you if you start to panic again. You know I'm real. Accept that."

"You just want me to accept it _now_?"

"The faster the better." I said gritting my teeth as I pushed the vault shut harder.

I watched as he ran through the facts and looked back over at me.

"There that's better. We'll talk in the morning."

I hit him on the arm and ran from the room shutting the door behind me.

I was worried about what kissing John would do to his psyche. I never considered mine. I didn't think I would need to.

I was wrong.

The vault opened and nothing was going back inside. I opened Pandora's Box.

I ran down the stairs promptly crashed down on the couch.

I had said I would wait to face the John vault until I saw him, until I had the time, until he believed me. Now was the time. I couldn't ignore it any longer.

I would go into my Mind Place and I would face these pesky feelings that always distracted me. I would understand them and I would put them back in the places they belonged.

Before they all ganged up on me while I was away. Perhaps all I needed was for John to be around. They only bombarded me after I left him and since I arrived. There was a time before when it there was John and they weren't attacking me. I just had to reach that place again.

As soon as I thought about my Mind Palace, I was already there. I traveled down the simple path and made my way up the stairs and into John's dedicated room. As I walked over to the door, I felt my heart rate increase and my breathing shorten. There was the anxiety yet again. I didn't really make sense. Not logically. I was facing these emotions, I was in control, there was nothing I couldn't do in here. But every other time before, I had been opening it knowing I would shove everything back in and everything that happened would be forgotten. Now I didn't know what to expect. I didn't like that.

I opened the door and in the corner sat that vault rattling about. Tiny on the outside, infinite on the inside. It held everything that was John.

And it was open.

I didn't even open it, I didn't do anything, and I was greeted by the overwhelming sensations again. Everything floated and flooded the room and I was encircled in everything John. Everything I had stuffed away, everything that had resurfaced while I was away, any memories regarding him that distracted me from the work, the past eight months, and more surrounded me.

I was stuck in a John tornado.

I figured the best thing to do was to just jump in. I took on everything. I ran through every moment of John since the first day we met. Every deduction I had ever done, every feeling I had felt, every feeling he had felt, everything he had ever said, everything he did, everything I did, and all else that included him. Every thought I had about him when he wasn't around, every time he went out on a pointless date, every time he left me to go out on a date, every time he came with me on a case, every time he left a date to come help me, every time we solved a case, every time we laughed inappropriately, every time he shocked me with something he said or did, every time I missed him, every time I thought he was missing me. I ran through all the guilt I had. Over all the pain I caused him. All the pain I caused myself. I ran over every moment I had spent with him since my return. I ran over the moment he said he loved me over and over. I ran over the kiss again and again.

I hadn't faced this much emotion since I was a child and my mother had passed.

It was overwhelming, it was confusing, my mind was even having a hard time keeping up. Conclusion after conclusion sounded out in my PA system.

_John is attracted to you._

_John puts you above all else._

_You put John above all else._

_John's been better off with you._

_John missed you. _

_You missed John._

_You hurt John._

_John needed you._

_You needed him._

More and more conclusions about how I felt kept rounding out. They all had to do with the fact that I cared. I cared for John more than I had cared for anyone before.

Before me I saw the living room couch. I saw me looking at John and I saw John sitting next to me.

_"And because I love him." _The John in my mind spoke to me as he involuntarily reached out a hand. I replayed the scene again and again.

_John loves you._

I watched again and again trying to understand. All other things I could come to terms with. I could face my guilt, I could face the pain, I could face the fact that I cared, but John loving me?

_Love?_

Love was a just chemical reaction. I couldn't see it. How did John know? We couldn't see the chemicals in our minds.

How would I know if that was how I felt? I'd never felt it before. I'd never felt for anyone in the way I felt for John before.

I supposed I could get a brain scan and measure the chemicals but I doubted John would go for such a thing.

I spent the rest of my time in my Mind Palace just facing my feelings. I felt like I hadn't in a very long time. It was exhausting but I made it through everything that was John.

_John is special._

That I could agree with. John was very special.

The only emotion I had trouble facing was the love. I still couldn't wrap my head around it. I let everything else float in the room of John, I wasn't going to force it down any more. But I didn't have a single object for love. It was a question to me. Not a memory or a thought. It was too broad. I didn't know where it would be or if it was even there. I decided to leave that for later. I was still unsure of how John was going to take my real presence. I would leave that question for a later time.

When I exited my mind I found myself not only mentally exhausted but physically as well. I managed to sleep for a few hours after that.

I never got why people thought sleep was such a wonderful thing. It never helped anything.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: **Sherlock POV. Two chapter update.

* * *

When I woke, I couldn't believe what I had concluded the night before. I felt corrupted with all those emotions running free. I felt freer in the sense that I wasn't keeping constant tabs on the John room but the question of love still plagued me.

It couldn't be me, feeling something like that. I wasn't meant to have that feeling. It was a distraction, it was demolition, it was what ordinary people felt and it was what ruined their lives.

Even just staring up at the ceiling I could feel the question pressing down around me. That horrible question rushing around and ringing in my mind. I had no way of shoving it aside because there was nothing created for it. I couldn't get rid of it.

I needed a distraction.

I pulled out my box of cigarettes to find only a few left. Tucked down inside was the last bits of cocaine. I only had enough for a couple of hits. I could already feel the guilt eating at me. If I took some now I would have to find more without John knowing. Even just looking at it I could feel the itch to take it. It would be impossible for me to ignore. I'd just have to get more before I ran out completely or things would get bad.

Looking towards the stairs I moved towards the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

When I came back out everything was better. My heart was racing, I was seeing everything, I felt like I could take on anything.

_Bring on a case!_

I was ready to chase anyone down. I knew I couldn't because I was stuck inside the apartment so I jumped around looking at things. I could see every detail and I couldn't stay on one thing for too long because soon I would be looking at something else. Scratches on the wall, crumbs on the counter, dust in the cabinet, dents in the furniture.

Everything felt right and I knew I could take on anything. John could come down the stairs and I would be able to handle it all.

Almost as soon as I thought of him I heard a noise coming from up the stairs. I panicked.

_John can't see me now. He'll know. _

I ran over to the couch and jumped on top concentrating on the dots that had formed on the ceiling. I tried to be perfectly still but couldn't help the small fidgets in my toes and fingers. I felt John looking at me but I concentrated harder trying to determine the life span of the dots and where they had come from. He continued to move about the flat and I continued to stare. A part of me wanted to run over to him, to confess that I was high, to not lie, to let him know everything. To tell him of my conclusions from the night before. John would because he was ordinary. He knew how to deal with emotions. I didn't move though.

Then John left. And everything came crashing down.

John didn't say anything. Maybe I wasn't as good at hiding my high as I had thought.

_He knows._

_He couldn't know._

He wouldn't understand. He wouldn't want me around. He would kick me out. He wouldn't love me anymore. I'd have to go back to the streets. I'd have to go back to boring cases by myself with the plaguing knowledge of how I might feel and how John feels.

He couldn't know. He couldn't find out. There was no way John was observant enough to understand that I was high. He was still shocked from finding out I was alive. I had to make sure he never found out.

I ran to the bathroom and pulled out the last bits of cocaine from the bottom of the box. If I flushed it, I would have nothing to worry about. I had gone through withdrawal before, I could do it again. Maybe even this time Mycroft wouldn't be checking up on me and making me take drug tests at the most inconvenient times. Any time was inconvenient really. John wouldn't find out about it ever. He wouldn't need to know I went back to it. He wouldn't be disappointed in me.

_Just throw it in and flush it down. _

I stood with my hands poised but I couldn't do it. This was one of the only things keeping me going. John was already ignoring me. He probably wouldn't take me being back as a good thing. He wouldn't find out if I kept it. He was probably going to leave me anyway. I would need it for when he left.

I tucked it back inside my cigarette box and moved back towards the couch and laid back down. There were risks to cocaine but there were also benefits. Short lived but I had to focus on the benefits. Or the negatives of giving it up.

I moved through my Mind Palace and into a back wing I had almost deleted a long time ago, but didn't. There were the memories of my withdrawal and how it made me feel. I had kept them to remind myself not to do the drugs again. It seemed that failed. I moved through the memories again.

At the time of my first withdrawal, there were plenty more than just random small hits of cocaine. That withdrawal was painful and distracting and I thought it was unnecessary at the time.

Then there was Mycroft and Lestrade continuously talking to me. Getting me off of it. I half only stopped so they would stop having 'the talks' with me. About how I could kill myself, how they wouldn't help me if I got into trouble, how I was ruining my mind. Really I thought it helped my mind. In retrospect, I guessed some of what they said could be seen as true.

After the disrupting withdrawal and during the time of finding the wonderful sensations of nicotine, I found my mind less distracted than before. No longer was I concentrating on how many drugs I had left, how much money I had stored away for the next round, if my dealer would be in town that night, if the cops were onto him yet (though I doubted it with the help I gave him in hiding, still he was an ordinary man), or which drug I would be doing next. I could only focus on the case and the Work.

Then there was the terrible nothingness when I had no cases. Sure I had my experiments but they didn't last forever. I finished them too quickly or they would need me to wait for hours for results and it was just hell.

Then came the time when I had to quit smoking. Even I understood why I needed to. I chose to look at it as if it was an experiment. A torturous experiment on myself. It worked and I was off the cigarettes, mostly. It was better to turn to them than back to the drugs. I didn't want to go through that withdrawal again. The pain I could tolerate, it was the lack of ability to do anything that would drive me insane.

Then John came. John was actually a fairly good distraction. One I didn't mind. The image of his disappointment at finding out I had done drugs played out in front of me. He was a constant reminder. He was the reason I had started to cut back in the first place.

I ignored the memory of John and bounced around in my Mind Place for a bit. I played through the withdrawal symptoms, went over the facts in my head, relived the high through affective memory, and back around again.

After some time I was starting to relive the comfort of smoking in my mind. My body started to itch and I couldn't ignore it. I shuffled out of my Mind Palace and dove for the cigarettes in my pocket. I needed one and I needed it fast.

_John can't find out._

I moved towards my bedroom and walked in starting up my lighter when I saw the window.

_Fire escape. Not bad._

* * *

When John came home I was back on the couch having relaxed from the nicotine and shower. The emotions were continuously dancing around in John's room in my mind, just being there, until I heard John and they started to buzz a little louder. They were no longer a distraction, just a reminder. I watched him move into the kitchen.

_Tea. He's nervous. He's been thinking about me. _

_Could he tell I was thinking of him?_

_Best to stay still._

So I did. I waited until John took his seat with his tea before jumping right in. I needed to know right then what was going to happen. I needed to know if I was coming back or if I would be running away again.

"I'm back." I tried starting. John didn't say anything for a moment.

"Yes. I suppose you are."

_Maybe if I made him laugh he won't look at me like that. _

"I must say your reaction is different than what I expected. I expected physical contact in the form of a hug."

I heard his chuckle and smiled internally. Really he was so predictable.

"I did that the first time you came back. Disappointed?"

_He hugged me more than that. There were more hallucinations. _

_Rejects me, means no hug. Not that I want a hug. I don't need physical contact. _

I poked him after all. I kissed him actually. A hug would be different. A hug would be …

_Nice._

"So you did." I answered, ignoring the question.

"What do we do now then?"

The question I had been asking myself. Luckily I had an answer.

"Now, I'll tell you everything. You need to know what was real and what wasn't."

"Great."

He did not sound pleased but I knew it was for the best. In order to conclude if I was to stay or leave, I needed to know how he felt about everything. There would be no sugarcoating it. He needed to know it all.

So I told him everything. Everything he needed to know that is.

He wasn't happy. Not that I expected him to be. But he was obviously hurt by the fact that it was all for him. He at least figured that much out. He knew all of this was meant for him. It was all meant to hurt him.

"You know I didn't tell people you were a fraud."

I smiled inside again. I was proud that he didn't. I knew he would know I was lying.

"I know. It didn't matter if you did. I just had to say it."

Then he jumped to who knew. I knew he wouldn't not be happy about others knowing while he was left in the dark. He would not only me angry at me but at them too. He had to of seen at least one of them. He would be running through the memoires. Molly at the hospital. Mycroft with his contacts.

"It was for your own safety."

He did not like my explanation. Apparently his hallucinations had said something similar. I was not breaking the illusion by saying so. Then he asked the question I had really hoped to avoid.

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

I didn't want to respond. I could see his anger. I didn't want to promote it. The answer was no. He had to understand why. Just not when he was angry.

_Change the subject._

I changed it to his hallucinations. I was curious not only to how he responded with them, information I was planning to collect anyway, but I also wanted to know what to avoid saying. I didn't want to repeat and cause John to question me again.

Sometimes I forgot that John was intelligent, for an average mind. His mind created a tightknit story. There were indisputable facts woven into the lies. It was much like how Moriarty got everyone to believe I was a fraud.

Then I had to explain about Moriarty himself. I was still unsure as to if he was alive. I believed he was. Off-grid, behind the curtain. When I spoke to others, I only ever spoke of Moran. No one else would be smart enough to notice the pattern. Moran was no different. It would be impossible for him to do everything in the exact same way, not matter how well he was trained. No, Moriarty was out there somewhere.

As I explained all I had been doing while away I could see the jealousy and worry on John's face. I wished I could have told him that I wanted him to be there with me. That I missed him, that I needed him, but I couldn't. I couldn't say any of that until I knew how John felt. I needed to know if he was going to take me back.

When John asked why Moran hadn't killed me I knew he would need more information. He knew the death was all for him but he didn't know why. I had hoped he would have figured it out but I guessed I would have to spell it out for him.

"Moriarty wanted to burn the heart out of me. What do you think he meant by that?"

I watched as John was taken off guard by my question and by my proximity. I was leaning into his space, crouching down in front of his chair. He contemplated my words and I had to try not to push the answer on him before he could think of it.

"I don't know. I thought by taking your work away and making you out to be a fraud he-"

_No!_

"You," I said trying to control my impatience. He looked at me confused so I continued, losing a bit more of that patience as I spoke. "You, John. He figured out that you were special. You were different. He would only let me live if you continued to suffer. He wanted me to know you were suffering. That is not to say he didn't come for me on more than one occasion."

_Moriarty probably knew how I felt before I did. Sickening. _

"Me? But-"

"Don't make me repeat myself." I said pushing away from the close proximity and moving about the room. I was worried if I spoke more on the subject I would let something slip out. Not consciously of course. Just something subtle in my body langue. Not that John would pick up on it.

"Alright. But if you weren't done, why did you come back? Won't they know you came here? Won't they know you talked to me, let me know? Won't they come for you? For me? Us?"

Which questions could I answer?

_He is the reason I came back. They do know where I am. Not only Moran knows I'm here. They obviously know I talked to you. They probably have the apartment on watch. They will come for me, not for you. They will threaten me first. Then I will find out._

I thought it best just to answer his first question. The rest would be information he didn't need.

"Molly. She told me…" _You tried to kill yourself. _"I found out you had injured yourself and were sent to the hospital."

"You talked to Molly?" I didn't miss the jealous tone in his voice. I smiled out the window shortly before continuing.

"Only for emergencies. It was the first time she had contacted me."

"What exactly did she say?"

I considered John's question. I knew he wondered how much I knew, he had to of known I knew everything.

He didn't even know everything. He didn't know Connor Brine had faked being his doctor for a reason I still did not understand. There were no signs of Connor in the apartment. John seemed in fine health, minus the effects of the PTSD. He had to have done something.

I wouldn't tell him of Connor until I knew what had happened. He probably didn't even need to know. As a doctor, he didn't' need any mistrust of hospitals.

I thought of testing his vitals myself but was sure that would be a question for a time when John was more trusting. I doubted he would let me take his samples to St Bart's. Even so, Connor may have messed with my lab. I would need new, not tampered with equipment.

I decided to put his mind at ease. He didn't need to think I worried over him. He probably didn't anyway seeing as how it took me a month to come for him.

"That you had been found passed out in the kitchen and were brought to St. Bart's."

"Did she say why?"

"She might have."

"That was a long time ago." John said when I didn't continue.

A feeling of guilt started to bubble up inside. I had faced the guilt that had to do with John but that didn't make it disappear. He didn't understand why I didn't come sooner. I wished I could have told him I wanted to. I really did come as soon as it was acceptable.

"I came as quick as I could."

"Let me guess, had to solve a case first?"

John's tone was meant to sound joking but I could hear the worry and hurt in his voice. He knew the answer. The Work was the only thing that would ever come before him. He knew that. He just wanted me to say it.

"It was imperative. I was undercover at a marine facility and-"

"And let me guess. It had something to do with dolphins?"

I felt slightly relieved that he wasn't yelling at me. It didn't mean there wasn't that weight on my chest from the guilt of having caused his annoyance.

"Not directly." He didn't need to know about the cocaine. "Though I chose to learn a great deal about them to get the job."

"And why would you do that?"

"Dolphins are smarter than most humans. They seemed like the least boring aquatic animal."

I moved back over to the couch and laid down turning my head towards John. I subtly ran my hand over the pocket with my cigarette box to make sure it was still secure. I couldn't keep it in my jeans pocket for John would find it too soon. The large sweatshirt pocket could hide it well but it could also fall out easy. John couldn't see it.

"Well it explains the dolphin noises."

_Ah, a change of subject. Good._

"It really is quite fascinating how one dolphin can-"

"Sherlock." He cut me off and I glared at him. I was in the middle of a thought. It was very familiar though. Him cutting me off. "I'm not quite done here."

"Fine. Go on."

I went on to explain more, answering his questions. It tried to make it clear that even thought I did not plan on returning and I did not plan on telling him, I did it all to come back. I did it all to come home. He seemed to agree with that answer.

"I guess that kept you from being bored."

"Mostly. What did you mean by no media?"

Really I had already knew. I just wanted to skip the subject of what I did to keep myself from being bored while away. He did not want to know the answer to that question. I figured I could get him to talk about his delusions more.

John's response brought up an interesting point I hadn't considered.

_Making a deal._

I knew that I would have to do something with Moran in order to stay with John. I did not want them harming him and that would mean more harm for myself. I would agree to it but I hadn't considered making the deal myself. I had assumed Moran would send his messenger to give me the rules. Maybe I could be a step ahead. It was surprising that John had thought of this before I did. And that was months ago.

_Low key cases. No media. Always stay around John. _

I could do that. It would be terribly boring and selfish but really I could care less. I would always be around John.

I told John the basis of my plan. I would make a deal with Moran by talking to his messenger. That was all John needed to know or worry about. I was glad to see John wasn't disagreeing outright. I took that as a sign that he was willing to let me stay.

The subject changed to telling Mrs. Hudson briefly. I knew John would agree to tell her himself. Really I just didn't want to face it. She would not be happy with me.

Quickly John took me by surprise again.

"Well this had to be great fun for you didn't it? You got to fake your own death and lead a life of solving crimes without having to dictate to society's rules. I'm sure you loved it. I'm sorry my hospital trip brought you back."

He was mad. He wouldn't say that unless he was trying to hurt me. Normally I would just ignore it. I knew he didn't mean it. I would ignore it, if I could.

_Does he actually feel this way? Does he not understand? How do I get him to understand?_

I sat up and tried to read him further. He looked upset and confused. He probably expected me to say something sooner.

_What do I say? _

For the first time in a very long time my mind was speaking without my permission. "The hardest part of falling was not to look at you and tell you." The image of John trying to reach my body lying still on the concrete outside of St. Bart's, the look of worry, of shock, of pain that I saw. I couldn't wipe it from my mind. There was nothing I wanted more in that moment than to make him feel better. To tell him it was all fake. But I couldn't. Then there was the times after that. When I was still around.

I don't think he heard me mumble as I called myself stupid. "No. No, when you were at my grave asking me to tell you it was a lie. That was the hardest." Again I found myself looking out, hiding from behind that tree, listening to what John had to say. I knew I had to leave. I knew I should have left already. But again John had more control over me than I should have allowed. I stayed and I listened to him asking me to make it fake. I had the power and he was asking. But I couldn't. I had to leave him there. I had to leave him broken. It broke me. I had nothing. I pushed him away from me every night for nine months. I was going to push him away again even after I saw him. How stupid I was. I could never leave him again. No matter what the cost. If I had to get rid of the Work to do it I would.

I lost any control I had over my emotions. "I'm glad I'm back." My body took over completely showing John how I really felt. "I hated it John. The way I was forced to live and move around. Yes it was fun at some points. But all I wanted was to come home. I hated to think of how I affected you. Moriarty got what he wanted in the end. And I'm sorry I couldn't stop it."

"That's what they said too."

I jumped at John's cold tone. I looked over at him trying to read what he was thinking. John would never be so cold to me. Not when I was being honest. Not when I was showing him how I felt.

He would only act like this if he thought I was lying.

_He thinks I'm lying. _

I retreated my thoughts back into my mind and returned his cold stare with a blank one.

"You think I'm acting."

"I don't know what to think."

How could he of all people not know the difference?

I wasn't going to bother trying to change his mind. He clearly wouldn't listen. It took me forever just to get him to believe I was alive. I wasn't going to bother trying to defend myself.

"Believe what you want." I got up of the couch, unable to sit a moment longer. This was driving me mad. "What I told you is true. I risked my life coming back here. Honestly I risked yours."

There. Maybe he would respond to that.

"And why did you do that?" He stood up himself. "You could have called Molly or Mycroft. They would have told you I was fine."

"Is that what you would have rather happened?" I walked up to him to challenge me otherwise.

Because really I knew John was okay because they didn't call. I already knew he was fine. I just wanted to see for myself. Maybe I shouldn't have come. Maybe I really should have just stayed. I had important business I left for him. It was probably a lost cause now.

"I don't know Sherlock. You were free to do what you wanted and you came back for nothing."

_Nothing._

_Does he still not understand? Of course he doesn't. Stupid, stupid man._

"I came back for you."

"But I was fine!"

"No you obviously weren't!" God, he was so irritating. I lost control again, yelling, and speaking without calculating the responses. "I was out there every night thinking about how you were. I kept telling myself that I shouldn't care, that it would get me nowhere, but I did. I had to spend months worried about if you were dead or alive. I didn't know if they were going to change their mind. Believe it or not I cannot actually predict the future. I liked having cases, yes, because they took my mind off of you. I did everything to take my mind off you. But there you were buzzing about. My worry and my caring." _Horrible emotions._ "It was what he wanted. To throw me off. Well it did! Then I got that blasted phone call from Molly telling me you tried to kill yourself! Do you know what that did to me? Do you know how much it killed me that I couldn't leave that second to come and get you?"

I stopped yelling and looked over John. I was close enough to him now where I could clearly see how my words affected him. He was angry, confused, and clearly a bit scared.

"Good! Maybe you understood what it was like! I had to watch you die Sherlock! You weren't even around when I went to the hospital!"

"And you don't think that's worse?"

I wasn't even there for him. He needed me and I wasn't there. I didn't even know. I had to hear about it over the phone. A phone call.

"I don't know Sherlock, I hallucinated your existence for two months. I think that wins!"

"I didn't know!" I pulled back trying to get my thoughts in order again. "I couldn't tell you. You have to see that. I wanted to. I wanted to come back but I couldn't."

"I believed in you Sherlock! I always thought you would come back to me but you didn't. Instead my mind made up the reality in which you did. And now you come back spurting on about how sorry you are? Forgive me if I don't believe you now!"

_I'm not them!_

"Believe me now. It was hell out there without you. I haven't felt this way before!"

Everything kept flooding back. I was trying, trying to keep my thoughts in order. Pushing back these feelings. They kept running into every thought I had. I couldn't concentrate. Everything was just John and how he was and how I was and it was all confusing. The yelling was too distracting.

"You haven't felt before! Some good old feelings would do you some good."

"Are you so naïve enough to actually believe I don't have feelings? I haven't felt?" Every day. Every day I had to stuff those feelings into a box. How could they not exist? "John that's all I did! It was how Moriarty got to me! It was how he won!"

"Well I'm so sorry I made you lose your little game!"

"I didn't care he won! I cared he hurt you to do it!"

"I'm sure you did." _How could he not understand? Still!_ "I'm sure this wasn't-"

"Dear god! Can you be more ignorant?"

"Can you be more infuriating?"

I lost my mind completely. No thoughts were formed before I found myself pulling John into me. My lips collided into his and I pulled him in. If there was no way for my words to make him understand, this had to. He had to see. He was squirming. He still didn't understand. I pulled him harder and bit down on his lips, pulling them into my mouth. He grabbed my arms and pushed me away. I was only a small distance away, calculating how to move again.

"Don't! Don't do that! You can't just do that to shut me up! To make me do whatever you want!"

How could he think that was it? Yes I wanted him to shut up. Only to see what I was trying to say. He wouldn't listen.

My frontal attack didn't work, I knew it wouldn't. It was a distraction for him so I could grab his wrists and pin them to his side. Again I moved my face to his and tried to get him to respond to me. When we kissed before, something happened. It made sense. Something needed to make sense.

"Sherlock!" He tired yelling but I moved my tongue into his mouth at the opportunity. I shocked him but not quite enough. He managed to push me hard enough where I stumbled back again.

Why was he fighting me?

"You told me you loved me. Is that true or not?!"

If it was a lie, then I was just making a fool of myself. How could he not understand?

"I told you that because I thought you weren't real!"

_Irrelevant._

"True or not?!"

I ran over while John tried to think of a new way to avert the question. My question distracted him enough to where I could tackle him down onto the couch. I pushed him into sitting and I sat on top of him, keeping him pinned.

"Would you stop?!" John yelled as he continued to struggle.

"I am not acting." I calmed myself down and articulated every word so he would understand. "This is real. Now tell me the truth."

"Get off me!"

"True or not?" I growled back as I used my forehead to pin his head down and force him to look me in the eyes. He couldn't lie to me. He knew it. That was why he was avoiding the question. He growled back at me. "True or not?" I asked quieter. He took a moment to struggle back lamely but gave up and sighed.

"True." I heard him grumble back. He wasn't happy about it. He wasn't happy that he had to tell me. That I made him.

I found myself quite the opposite. It was just what I needed to hear.

_John loved me. John wasn't going to kick me out. I was going to stay here. I was going to be back with John. I wasn't going to be broken._

I closed the short distance between our lips and crushed myself back on him. I moved my lips fast trying to show him how I felt. It took far too long but finally John started to move his lips back. My heart pounded and I reacted aggressively, moving faster and faster. I smiled when he grabbed at my lower lip between his teeth.

I made sure he wouldn't move or fight me back, though I knew we were beyond that point, by squeezing his arms, warning him not to push me as I moved my hands back up wrapping around his shoulders. I felt his arms wrap around my back bringing me closer to him while simultaneously digging into my back. The pain tensed my body, causing a pleasurable adrenaline rush. He let my lip go from his teeth and we battled with our lips again. I could feel him trying to keep up with the pace I kept.

"You. Masochistic. Idiot." I growled out in between kisses. I could feel him smiling against my mouth and he tried to talk but I wouldn't let him finish.

I finally had him, I wasn't letting him go.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Was what he was trying to ask.

"You," I ground my teeth against his lip and popped it out, grinning at how his back arched as I did so. "Love me."

_John loved me. The idiot. Did he even know what he was getting into? Loving me? _

Apparently I said something John liked because he was grabbing me even tighter, running his hands through my hair and pulling me as close as he possible could before pushing his tongue forward into my mouth. I groaned which only egged him on more.

I pushed back with my tongue trying to fight my way into his mouth. Too soon John pulled back but continued by kissing a trail down my neck where he sank his teeth down. Again the pain caused adrenaline rush came and I groaned as I grabbed him tighter. I wanted him to do that again. He did. All the physical sensations I had felt from the first kiss were back again, this time even more so.

"I bet you knew that already." John's mumbled his words into my neck before moving his head and licking up a line to the bottom of my ear. I jumped at the unexpected move before he started nibbling on my earlobe. It felt oddly ticklish and arousing until John slipped out his tongue and started distracting me in that way.

"I didn't actually." I admitted without thinking.

"No?" His gruff voice was very close to my ear making me twitch involuntarily again. How could I think clearly when he kept doing this to me?

"Love is subjective. I thought I was projecting my own thoughts onto-" His tongue dipped down into my ear and his cool breath tickled the inside. "Oh god."

Nope. No coherent thoughts for now. It was as if my mind had left my body completely. There was just John.

I couldn't stand the loss of his lips on mine any more. I grabbed his hair and ripped his head back from my ear. I plunged back into him, pushing him back against the back of the couch. I could feel his hands working at the bottom of my sweatshirt. Pulling it up. I was glad he was. It was getting too warm for it.

Then I heard the crushing noise of a cigarette carton hitting the floor.

_Maybe he didn't notice._

I felt John stop and look down. I looked down too. The cigarette box was open, showing the few that were left. I looked back at John who was looking at me.

_He noticed._

I panicked.

_The cocaine._

We jumped for the box at the same time. John managed to push me under him and I punched his elbow out. He could not get that box. I would do more but I also didn't want to hurt him. Too much.

He switched hands and wrapped his hands tightly around the box. I tried to pry his fingers off but he struggled off the ground and pushed me away.

"What's this Sherlock?"

I glared at him. There was no way he knew what was in there. He wasn't observant enough. He was just mad about the cigarettes.

"If you didn't know what it was then you wouldn't be keeping it from me."

I ran but so did he and he separated us with his chair. We circled a bit as I tried to decide the best moment to jump over the chair and tackle him.

"And what about the patches?" He asked, circling with me.

"No longer effective."

_Long since been not effective._

"When was the last time you smoked?" I ignored his question but he pressed on. "Sherlock?"

"Two hours ago."

"Two hours?"

I had hoped he would be distracted by the answer but when I ran for him he ran to the bathroom and chucked the cigarettes in. I heard them clunk in the back right corner of the room. He tried to push the door shut but I pushed at the best angle and managed to keep it open, even with his strength pushing back.

"How did you smoke and I not know it?!" John yelled as we both pushed against the door. "I couldn't smell it on you or anything."

I smirked from the other side. He had no idea. It looked like my precautions worked. Maybe they would be enough to distract him so I could get it back.

"Alcohol swab, chewing gum, and shower!"

I tried to push from a better angle but it didn't seem to be working. I thought of shoving my foot in the door but that would make me lose the angle.

"What about your clothes?"

I full out smiled against the back of the door as I tilted my head towards the crack and lowered my voice an octave. "Wasn't wearing any."

"What?"

There, that distracted him. I managed to push the door open just enough where I slipped through. I looked towards the back corner and automatically found the pack. I peeked inside and saw all contents were where they were supposed to be. I shut it and stuffed it back into my pocket.

"Naked, John. Is that a problem?" I was just teasing him now. He was still leaning against the back of the door staring at me with him mouth gaping open.

"Problem? I-" I smirked at his loss of words. I noticed the all telling sign of arousal as he licked his lips before he tried to speak again. He was taking too long though so I pushed him aside and moved back into the living room. A few moments later I heard him opening the door and running after me again. "The flat doesn't smell of it."

_Brilliant John. Wonderful aversion. _

"Fire escape John!" I yelled back at him as I jumped down into my favorite chair. I twisted myself on it and stared as he tried to add two and two.

"Right." He was adorable when he tried to think. "You were on the fire escape naked?"

"Way to catch up John."

I smirked at him as I fixed the hair he messed up on my head. His eyes followed my every movement and I could see him thinking again. That was what I was afraid of. Here would come 'the talk' again. I knew it was coming as soon as he sat in his chair and awkwardly folded his hands over his lap.

"I can't take any more lies Sherlock. I've lived a life of lies and I need the truth. I can't handle being lied to."

I rolled my head back to stare at the ceiling and rolled my eyes. I didn't need this talk.

"And you call me dramatic."

"Sherlock…are you doing drugs?"

_Fantastic_.

Sometimes I wished John wasn't as smart as he was. Well, if he wasn't though I would have gotten bored of him long ago. I looked over at him and frowned. He really didn't want to know the answer but I couldn't lie.

"Sherlock don't lie to me. Just tell me."

And there was the doctor voice. Well I wasn't going to get out of telling him. Best way would probably be to just say it. I could twist it so it didn't seem that bad but John would know.

"Yes."

I saw John stiffen but nod his head. He was still in doctor mode, getting information. I couldn't read exactly what he was thinking yet.

"What?"

"Cocaine."

"How long?"

"Since South America."

I may have been obscuring just a bit. He didn't need to know exactly how long.

"Which was?"

"Two months ago."

It was actually longer than that. Two and a half. I rounded down.

"How often?"

"Occasionally."

"Right. And how often is that?"

He really didn't need to be asking these questions. He wasn't going to be happy no matter what. He didn't need to know every little detail.

_"_I'm not some idiot! I am handling perfectly fine! I don't need a doctor asking me these questions!"

"Really and when was the last time you did it? When was the last time you were high?"

That question I did not want to answer. He would be very upset if he knew I did it today. Best not to answer.

"This morning?"

_Dammit._

"Very good John."

_How was he even able to figure that out? I thought I was very good at hiding it. _

I looked over at him as he ran his hands over his face in frustration.

"You can't do this Sherlock."

"Telling me what to do again?" I knew what I was doing. I didn't need to hear about other people's opinions. He couldn't make me do anything. "I'm not in your brain John. I don't have to listen to you."

"There's a reason it's called the heart attack drug Sherlock. I can't lose you again!"

I couldn't ignore how upset John was getting by saying that. Another wave of guilt washed over me. I guessed I did make him lose me once. I lost him too.

"So please. If you'll just try. Just try and stop. For me."

"Fine." I nodded. "I'll stop. I've already started."

"When?"

He was asking all the wrong questions. He didn't want to know the answer to that. If he knew his visit to the hospital disrupted me so much, he would feel guilty. I didn't need him feeling guilty. I couldn't lie though.

"About a month."

John nodded at me but I knew he knew what I meant.

"The withdrawal?"

"I've been dealing with it."

"Alone?" I glared at him quick. "Right. Stupid question."

"I'm not quitting the smoking."

Trying to quit two addictions would kill me. Besides, the smoking was better than the drugs.

"Fine but only smoke outside." I smirked as he moved back into the kitchen. I wasn't going to agree to that. It was chilly outside. "With clothes on!" He yelled back.

I groaned at John as I rolled my head back against the chair. He was no fun.

"But John-"

"Nope!"

I smirked at his back. I wasn't going to listen to that either.

As John moved about in the kitchen, making plans for dinner no doubt, I receded back into my mind. I had a lot to work through.

I was back. John loved me and I was back for good.

I would have to think of a deal to make with Moran that he couldn't refuse and soon.

I had to figure out what Connor Brine did with John. As he was dead, I doubted I could find out through him. I doubted he told anyone. If he really did learn from Moriarty, he would know not to. Then again, he was fairly dense. Not that dense though.

I had to deal with the withdrawal I was going to go through. It would be easier with John though. It turned out he was a fairly good distraction.

I knew physical contact could easily be an effective distraction but with John it was different. Any physicality I had had previously was a part of the Work, as an acting exercise. I never gave in to my body's physical demands before. Two kisses with John and I was sold on the idea. I would have to work out a system that would be acceptable for us both.

At least the feelings that had been bombarding me since my arrival finally started to recede into their proper places. They were still there, just under the surface, but they were no longer making me impulsive. It was a pleasant equilibrium.

* * *

**AN: **Long notes so the** bold notes are the ones that I ask everyone to read (please). **

I know, it took longer than I thought but my life has pretty much been hell. No time to write, very sad. So I hope having two chapters makes up for the wait.

**You will be getting more Sherlock chapters. ** There is no way out of it. They will come later on. **Constructive criticism (and love) always welcome. ** I never can tell if I'm getting Sherlock across or not. I promise one day after this is done I will go back and edit him. I just hope for now this is okay. I want him to be relatable but you know, still Sherlock. I just want to know if his Sherlock-ness is still there or if there are parts where there could be more. (For the future chapters.)

If you thought we were closing in on the end...ha ha ha (both laughing and crying) we are not. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be writing a long Sherlock but my life is so busy I won't be able to write it all down soon. **Hopefully I'll at least get weekly updates. I'm not picking a day though so check back when you can.** I'm going to be finishing my Merlin fic first so, hey if you like M/M smut, go check that out. Only one more chapter on that.

Which leads to my next point. I rated this T because I wanted more people to be able to read it. Now you know its a Johnlock and you've seen some kissing action (ooh-la-la) which may or may not lead somewhere but I'm not changing it to M. I am however open to writing a one-shot chapter outside the story. Believe me when I say this does not give any of the future story away. I don't even know where it would go yet. The reason I bring it up? A) Would any of you read it or are you all too young? B) If you would read it, which POV would you like? John, Sherlock, or 3rd omni?

**Next chapter John POV**

Much love - you're stressed out but happy writer.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: **Thank you guys for your reviews! I love how understanding you are and how supportive you are about how life can suck. I hope you like the chapter :)

John POV

* * *

I ordered dinner after that.

Chinese to be safe. I ordered my usual and his.

I doubted he would eat much of it. I hadn't really seen him eat anything since he got back.

We sat down when the food came and I at least got him to eat some. Not nearly enough for me to be happy but he would keep taking bites in between talking if I glared at him. He was telling me of everything he did while he was gone. Every case that is. We skimmed over how he felt, not needing to dive back into that, and I knew he was skimming over some details so as not to upset me too much. He also avoided anything that had to do with drugs. I was sure he could see me running the idea of what he was doing and when in my mind. So, we just talked about the work.

He would get so into his stories. He was always very animated. He would jump up on furniture and swirl around and flail his arms. He ended up throwing a bite of food at me once. He was the tornado he had always been.

It hurt my neck to have to try and keep up with him.

I listened to him tell every story, every case, and I did my best to ignore the part of me that was jealous. I wanted to have been there with him, fighting by his side. I wanted to protect him from the dangers he faced and be there with him when he solved the cases. I loved those moments where I could see it all clicking together for him. He was always happiest in those moments I thought. It wasn't fair to me that he got to live this adventure and I was left alone in my flat. Talking to the walls.

After I calmed him down a bit I managed to talk to him about the drug use again. He had brought up a story about South America that made me think of it and I wasn't going to let it go. I got him to agree to come to me whenever he started to have withdrawal symptoms, day or night, work or home. I didn't want him to crave it so much that did something stupid. He could OD. That was probably the biggest threat.

I also got him to agree to quit cold. He said he had already been weaning his doses down and that was his next step.

Mrs. Hudson did come home that night but when she popped in it was only to tell me that she was off to bed and would stop by the next night to talk. I figured it was best she be prepared for Sherlock on a full night's sleep so I didn't argue or say anything.

We then talked about the flat. I knew he was missing a lot of his stuff. Really all that was there that was his was the furniture that wasn't already Mrs. Hudson's. I knew he didn't care much about his things but the apartment really was bare. I told him Mycroft had the lot of it and I told him what happened to the other stuff. He of course probably already knew but was humoring me by listening.

Turns out the first thing he wanted back was a new change of clothes. I offered him some of mine but we both knew that wouldn't work out. I knew both from the obvious dislike of my clothes that he vocalized frequently and the fact that I had already tried sharing clothes with one of my hallucinations.

"Not only will I not be caught dead in one of your hideous jumpers, there is also the issue that you are vertically challenged."

_Caught dead. _Wasn't he one for tact?

I ignored it.

And vertically challenged? I couldn't help he was freakishly tall.

And he really was making fun of my jumpers a lot since he got back.

"They're not hideous." He glared at me.

He said he would go out and get his own clothes the next day while I was at work. I didn't really believe him because I knew he'd be avoiding the public as much as possible and he never did like shopping but I didn't say anything. For all I knew his time by himself made him change. I just wanted to make sure he didn't use my card. He had to be paying for his life of solving cases in some way. I couldn't afford his style.

He also said he would agree to meet Lestrade if I invited him over for dinner. He didn't like the idea of dinner but I wanted it. I actually thought it would be a good idea to have a large group dinner as soon as possible. The next night I thought would be best if people could come on such short notice.

He said he didn't want more people to know than necessary but I thought it would be necessary. I figured it would be best when Mrs. Hudson arrived too. She would probably need as many familiar faces as I could give her. I also wanted to talk to Lestrade because I still needed to apologize. Besides, it was my flat too. I wanted people over, I was going to have them. It had been a long time since I had.

Well after all of that was over, it was getting pretty late. I got ready for bed quick but found I slowed when nearing the stairs.

A part of me expected him to follow. A part didn't want him to. A part did.

Then there was the fact that I gotten rid of Sherlock's bed. Now _that_, he complained about missing. I didn't know why. He never slept in it. But he made a big deal. So I told him to either get a bed on his own or I would help him pick one out one of the nights I had free. He didn't say anything to that so I guessed I would be pulled into getting a replacement at some random point of his choosing.

I figured he could just sleep on the couch. It was a good couch after all. He had slept on it before, but I did still feel a little bad. The man had been moving from place to place for almost nine months, sleeping in crappy motel rooms and hostels. I could have given him a warm bed. My bed.

Not with me in it though. No, that would just be weird. I thought.

Maybe.

I really didn't know. How was I supposed to? Sherlock wasn't one to share. How could I think he would want to share a bed?

I was just being silly for even considering it.

Then there was the fact that we hadn't talked about one major event since he returned. We kissed.

We really, really kissed.

I didn't know where that came from. _He_ was the one who kissed _me_. Sherlock initiated kissing me. It was so weird to think about.

Sherlock kissed me.

Sure he kissed me the night before to get me to realize what was real, but this was a real kiss. He was the one who started it and he adamantly protested it being a part of any ulterior motive while he was doing it. That still didn't mean that I didn't question it. Yes, I still had trust issues and it could have been that, but this was Sherlock after all. I never knew what he was thinking.

He hadn't brought it up so maybe I wasn't supposed to say anything either. Maybe it was just a way to move past the argument. It did a good job.

But then there was what he said while we were kissing. That he didn't know I loved him. I knew I wasn't making that up.

I still couldn't believe he knew I loved him. I didn't really want to face that fact just yet. It would cause me to question even more. What Sherlock thought about it, if it played a role in Sherlock kissing me, if he was manipulating me, if he would tell someone, or how he felt. Trust issues were definetaly present. If he didn't want to talk about it, I didn't want to talk about it.

Then there was the fact that he said he thought he was projecting his own thoughts, before I interrupted him. Before his cigarettes fell out.

Projecting what thoughts? I really wanted to ask. I wanted to know. Sherlock Holmes does not say anything he doesn't mean to. Even in the middle of a kiss like that.

But how do you ask Sherlock a question like that?

I was honestly terrified of the answer. I never knew what he was thinking. I barely knew what he was feeling. Usually I could only be certain when he got into one of those frustrating moods where he would shout at me. Usually that was only when he was angry and that was easy to read off him.

So I decided not to bring it up. I would just wait and see. If anything else happened then maybe I would talk about it. I didn't want to push it. I didn't want to push him.

I also thought that maybe I had made it up. Maybe the argument happened and the cigarettes just fell out. Maybe there was no kiss.

I knew, deep down I knew, that I hadn't. But the thought still crept around me. Side effects of being crazy I guessed.

"Goodnight Sherlock." I called as I started to head up the stairs. He didn't answer me and I turned to see him staring out into nothing on the couch. He had his hands under his chin and his elbows on his knees. "Sherlock?" The idea of drugs popped into my mind, as it was a thought far from leaving, but he seemed far to calm for that. Plus I wasn't in the bathroom that long. Then again it was Sherlock and he probably could handle cocaine in a different way than anyone else. "Sherlock?"

"Goodnight John." He called out without looking away from the air he was staring at.

I sighed but decided it best to just go to bed. I didn't trust him but there was nothing I could do about it. It was late and I wasn't going to get enough sleep as it was.

* * *

I was woken up a few hours later, not by a nightmare but by a sound coming from downstairs. I blinked into the darkness but decided Sherlock was probably just doing something crazy. It wasn't a gunshot so there was no need to get up. I rolled back over onto my other side and closed my eyes again.

Then I heard voices.

Let me just say that when as a person who had hallucinated their dead friend being alive again, hearing voices was not a pleasant thing.

My eyes popped open and I strained to hear what was going on. I heard Sherlock's deep voice talking a mile a minute as per usual but then I heard a new softer voice answering him. I didn't know who that was.

I pushed up off the bed and quickly put on some pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, picking up my gun as well. I could still hear the voices when I reached the door and I opened it a crack putting my ear against it to hear better. I wanted to know the situation before I went down waiving my gun around. I still couldn't make out what they were saying.

I opened the door more and scooted out onto the landing.

"-offer?" That was the higher voice. It was definitely male but I couldn't place it. I checked the safety on the gun and headed down the first couple steps.

"Yes. And it would do you well to-" Sherlock started but his voice stopped short. I stopped moving on the stairs but his face soon came into view at the bottom. "John go back to bed."

"Who's here?" I ignored his demand and walked down a few more steps keeping my gun at the ready.

"John-" Sherlock started to warn me off again but I had already reached down enough to see a young man standing in our living room. He was dressed in jeans and a black turtleneck with a dark leather jacket over it. I could see the bulge from a gun sticking out underneath his left arm.

"John!" The mystery man greeted me with a smile. I raised my gun at him but he didn't flinch. "How nice to finally meet you. In person that is."

In person?

"You've been spying on me." I stated the obvious. "How terrible we've become acquainted in this way. You must know all about me and I don't even know your name." I moved in between our guest and Sherlock keeping the gun pointed on the stranger's chest. It was strange how easy it was to get back into the habit of needing to protect Sherlock even with everything that had gone on and all the messy, angry, mistrusting feelings I had towards him. I guessed it was something I would never really get over. I didn't want to.

"Well we'll have to fix that. I'm Victor." Victor held out his hand and I glanced at it before refocusing my gaze on him, keeping my aim. I didn't think he really expected me to shake it. "I'm a friend of Sherlock's."

"Don't you know?" I said with an insincere smile.

"John-" Sherlock tried again.

"Sherlock doesn't have friends." I moved more into the living room ignoring the noise of protest coming from behind me.

"I guess that's true, isn't it? Except for you." He looked me up and down, keeping that fake smile plastered on his face. "Well then, think of me as an acquaintance."

"Alright, acquaintance of Sherlock, why are you here?"

"He was just leaving actually." Sherlock stepped out from behind me and moved towards my side. I couldn't look at him as I was still focused on Victor so I didn't know if he was hinting or if that was actually the truth.

"That's true actually." Victor said moving towards the door. "Sorry to have woken you up." He didn't sound that sorry. "John," he nodded his head at me, "Sherlock." He nodded his head at Sherlock too and winked. I didn't like that.

As soon as Victor left I turned to face Sherlock, putting the safety back on and bringing the gun down.

"Who was he?"

"Victor." He pushed past me and sat down on his chair running his hands through his hair, trying to ignore me I was sure.

Everything had to be a chase with him.

"Obviously he's Victor. How do you know him?"

"I told you already."

Told me already? I never heard about a Victor.

He was just being an ass and I did not sleep nearly long enough to put up with it.

I took in a deep breath and said, "Refresh my memory." I readjusted the gun in my palm to hang more comfortably. Sherlock continued to ignore me.

"He's the spotter."

Now I'd heard of a spotter. In his recounts from his time away.

"That Moran sends out?" He nodded his head. "That was fast." Sherlock has only been back a few days.

"Not for him. He wanted to wait till now."

"Why?" He glared at me and I changed the subject. He clearly didn't know if he was giving me that look. "How'd they know you were here?"

"They have eyes everywhere."

Definitely not enough sleep for his dramatic, asshole attitude.

"Yeah but in our apartment?" The thought creeped me out. It wasn't like Moriarty hadn't gotten into our apartment before. Why couldn't Moran? "You don't think Moriarty put cameras in here when he made his video do you?" He knew I was referring to the video Moriarty put on my blog. The one I still couldn't figure out how to delete. Not that I had been on the blog in a while to try again.

"Yes." Sherlock said as if I was asking a stupid question. I probably was.

Well that was a creepy thought. Were they still there? Did Sherlock not see them? Did he see them and just not take them down?

The cameras were probably true. It meant Moran had been watching me this entire time. To keep an eye on me and make sure I was still suffering and that Sherlock hadn't contacted me. He knew exactly how much I had suffered. He knew everything I did. He knew every time I had a hallucination. He knew what I did with them. He knew when I started to believe in them. He knew when I made them go away. He knew when the real Sherlock came back. He knew what the real Sherlock and I did. On that couch. He knew everything. Oh god, he knew everything.

"I'm just…" I needed sleep. "I'm going to go back to bed then. Right." I turned and walked up the stairs without waiting for an answer. I probably wouldn't have gotten one anyway. I was too busy trying to process who knew what about me and about Sherlock.

Victor obviously knew. Was that what that wink was?

Oh god I needed sleep. And so I went back into my bed, put the gun away, and tossed and turned until I could catch a few more hours.

* * *

The next morning I poked my head out the door but I didn't hear any voices. I moved down the stairs to make breakfast and found Sherlock on the couch. It was some kind of miracle but I actually caught him sleeping. He was on his back with his sweatshirt off his body and crumpled on the floor. Underneath he was wearing a gray form fitted t-shirt. I smiled at how he looked. He always looked good in everything.

I went about the apartment quietly trying not to wake him. I went back up to my room quick and grabbed an extra blanket. I hadn't grabbed it the night before because I honestly didn't think he would sleep and he didn't ask for it. Even if he wanted one there was always the one from the back of my chair.

This one was thicker though and bigger. The one on my chair probably wouldn't have covered him. Again, freakishly tall.

I moved to the side of him and draped it over him pulling it up to his shoulders. I got a closer look at just how skinny he was. It made my heart hurt. I didn't understand why he did this to himself. Food really wasn't all that bad. He must have rarely ate with that slew of cases. Case after case after case. I would have to make sure he was eating more.

He was lying awkwardly with one arm crossed over himself and the other bent straight out towards the floor. The blanket managed to cover enough so I went off to take a shower.

When I came out of the shower he was up and sitting against the back of the couch with the blanket pulled around him like a cape. He didn't acknowledge me and I rolled my eyes at him.

"Breakfast?" I asked but he didn't answer.

I guessed I could make it for him. I wasn't feeding my hallucinations anymore. Someone real would actually look at the food before not eating it.

I made both him and myself some toast and tea and set his toast down next to him on the couch. He grunted and I took that as a good sign. At least he knew I was there.

"So, are you going to tell me what Victor wanted?" I asked, deciding to jump right into it and see if he would answer me.

"You know what he wanted. He wanted to talk about me being here."

"Well, yes, but what did he say?"

"It's not important."

"It's kind of important."

"Not to you it's not."

"Excuse me?" It was too important to me. His life could have been at stake. My life could have been at stake. He had a gun on him when Sherlock had nothing. I didn't like the idea of him coming when I didn't know. I needed to know.

"It has nothing to do with you."

"Oh is that why he's been spying on me? Because it has nothing to do with me?"

I waited patiently, still thinking I hadn't enough sleep to deal with Sherlock in this way. He took his sweet time but he did answer.

"I made a deal to stay and do cases."

Deja vu.

"You made a deal?"

"I believe I just said that."

"What was the deal?"

"It isn't of importance. I stay. We live. That's that."

"Sherlock you can't keep me in the dark on this." It kind of really pissed me off. I already was having trouble trusting Sherlock, he knew it, and I didn't like being kept out of the loop.

Sherlock didn't answer me but went back into his own mind instead. I glared at him but he didn't seem to register it. That or he was just pretending not to.

"Sherlock?" I growled out his name. He was going to drive me mad. "Sherlock?" He still didn't answer. "Fine. I'm going to work. Try not to do anything too stupid."

I finished off another few sips of tea, dumped the rest, and headed for the door. Why did I ever think this was going to be easy?

Actually when did I ever think that? That was very stupid of me.

* * *

When I came home from work that evening, groceries for the big dinner in hand, I found Sherlock in the kitchen on my laptop smoking a cigarette. His laptop was still with Mycroft so I couldn't be mad at that.

I ignored the smoke because I knew he still hadn't come to me about withdrawal symptoms, even if it had only been a day. Not that I expected it to get bad so soon but I was hoping he would at least let me know if he really did quit. The smoking was probably how he was dealing with it. If I brought it up, he would get defensive and pissed. I figured I'd let it go for right now and wait till everyone left tonight before I brought it up.

As I moved into the kitchen to pull out the correct food I could get a full glimpse of him.

He looked good.

It was apparent he did go out after all. Just like he said he would. He was back in a black tailored suit with an off white button up underneath. It looked much more him than that baggy sweatshirt. His shoes were some fancy dress model, probably expensive. His hair was cut, much better than the unruly mop that flung into his eyes. He was showered, he was shaved. He actually had been shaved before. Something against facial hair. I was sure he would never let stubble come through, even in his darkest days.

He all around looked better.

It was a splitting image of him sitting in that chair from a year ago.

It got me slightly worried. That was what the last hallucinations looked like. Minus the cigarette.

"Sherlock?"

"Phone." Was his response. I looked over the table and saw a small cell within his reach on the other side. I sighed but slid it over to him anyway.

"Got that today?" He hated it when I pointed out the obvious but I was still mad at him for pretty much everything and I would annoy him if I wanted to. Mostly I was just annoyed about the lack of sleep, the Victor thing, and the fact that I would have to deal with all of it with people over. Why was I doing this again?

I went about starting dinner without him answering. I had everything I needed to make dinner for everyone coming over that night. I already invited everyone when I was on break at work. I even thought of inviting Harry but didn't think she'd be able to make it on such short notice. I'd probably have to get her to come for a different thing. She didn't really know Sherlock anyway. It wasn't necessary she knew he was alive and well. Maybe for my sake and knowing I was still sane. But that could wait.

"Why did you go to the roof?" Sherlock asked. He didn't even look away from my computer screen. I continued in my process of making dinner.

"What?"

"With the fourth hallucination?" I stopped completely. How did he know that? "Technically fifth but you counted them as the same. It being your brain I wouldn't argue."

I never talked about that. He wasn't supposed to know that. No one knew about that.

I ran over behind him. I found my journal open on the computer.

All of the anger and whirlwind of emotions that I had been feeling before, that I stuffed away because I told myself I would deal with them later, because I told myself Sherlock would talk to me when he was ready, because I couldn't face something so huge all in one go, because I needed some normalcy first, because I wanted to have the support of the people I loved, they all came back at once. I swore I saw red blotching around the outer edges of my vision I was so mad.

"Sherlock!" I yelled as I slammed the screen shut and took the computer away.

I couldn't believe this.

Who was I kidding?

Yes I could. But it didn't mean I was happy about it.

"You had to of known it wouldn't lead anywhere productive." Sherlock continued, unfazed. "I cannot find reasoning in you going."

"Sherlock you shouldn't have read that."

My hands were digging into the edges of my computer as I tried not to hurl it at his face. I told myself I had to be patient. At least one of us had to act like an adult. I had to make him try to act like one. I also couldn't have him flipping out.

It was what I had been doing, wasn't it? Tip toeing around Sherlock and his feelings since he got back. Sure I let him know I was upset but I knew he could get upset too. Why did I care so much about not making him upset? Damn it, he should have learned to feel bad about things.

"Really John. Your password was all too simple. I just-"

"No not the password! My journal. It's private."

"Private? You went through all my things." He started pointing at the closed laptop. He was talking about what I wrote in there. I wrote about going through everything he owned as I put it away and how it all affected me. "You even took my shirt!"

Did he read that? I thought I didn't put that in there. Did he know I had slept with it?

Why did he read it?!

That was not in there. I most definitely did not write about that in the journal. There was no way he could have known I kept the shirt.

"Have you been in my room?" I accused.

The shirt was still hidden away in my closet with the violin as far as I was concerned. I had thought about bringing them down but it had been rather hectic since I accepted Sherlock was back.

"Aha! I was right!" Sherlock said as he bolted up from his seat, shoving his cigarette aside.

"Sherlock!" He was running away from me and up the stairs to my bedroom. "Sherlock don't go in there!"

He was too fast for me and flung open the door to my room and scanned over everything before I could stop him. No doubt he could see even more than when he had been in there the last time. He scanned my room quickly before flinging around towards my closet. I thought about stopping him but really there was no point unless I wanted to tackle him again. It would be a perk in its own way but I figured he wouldn't let it go.

Almost automatically he found the small box in the back of my closet. As soon as he lifted the box I could tell there was a change in his demeanor. He carried it gently over and carefully peeled back the top. There was a pile of dust on top of the box because I hadn't touched in a month but of course he didn't care about that getting on my bed.

"You kept it." He picked up his violin gingerly and inspected it for a few moments.

"Yeah." It was in the journal, I was pretty sure. "I thought you would have read that." I said bitterly but was already starting to loose some of my anger as I watched Sherlock's childlike expression.

I didn't put everything in there. I mostly just put what happened with the hallucinations and a bit of what I felt after. I didn't want to write too much about how I felt. Sometimes my therapist asked me to share what I wrote and I didn't really feel like having her analyze my new found love of my flatmate at every opportunity.

"I read what Harry did and that you kept it but I would have thought you'd of given it up to Mycroft." Sherlock said still transfixed on his violin. It was like he was off in his own place, his words just coming out. "The shirt was just a guess. You didn't specify."

"I didn't think Mycroft would…well I didn't know what he'd do with it." Sherlock was acting strange. Well stranger than his normal self. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He was just smiling. It got creepy if he smiled for too long. "Sherlock?"

He turned to me quickly before grabbing my face with both his hands and quickly placing a chaste kiss on my lips. My heart jumped high and my breath caught in the surprise.

"You kept the shirt." He said simply. He grinned then let go of my face and ran down the stairs with his violin in hand. I stayed staring at the now empty room.

What was that?

I was already confused about the first and second kiss. Now I had a third to think about? Did that mean that we were together or something? Sherlock wasn't one to be with someone. Besides we hadn't even talked about it.

Was that a thank you or something? Was he thanking me for keeping the violin or shirt?

Or did he read into that somehow?

Why was he acting strange?

I decided not to read too much into it myself. Sherlock and I were still dealing with a lot. He was dealing with being back from the dead, cocaine withdrawal, and whatever the thing with Victor was. I was dealing with having my dead friend back, keeping sane, and whatever the thing with Victor was.

So I licked my lips, ignoring the taste of cigarette smoke, and walked down the stairs like nothing happened.

I did have a dinner to cook for five after all.

When I came down he was back on my computer at the kitchen table. His violin sitting next to him, the case was open. I grumbled from behind him but I guessed he'd already read the entire thing so there was no point to taking my computer back. I just moved back to the oven.

"So?" He called over, lighting up another cigarette and closing the case on his violin. I wanted to still be mad at him but it seemed I wasn't. It only made me question the purpose behind his kisses even more. They really did shut me up.

"So what?" I asked.

"You didn't answer my question."

It didn't mean I wasn't annoyed.

"And what was that?"

He scoffed at me but he still answered my question. "The fourth. The roof."

"Don't you have better things to do than read my _private_ journal?" I emphasized the word private as if that would mean anything to him.

I did tell him I didn't know how I was going to trust him. This wasn't exactly helping.

"You would have told me eventually." He blew a puff of smoke in my direction over the table and continued to stare at me. I guessed he was waiting for me to answer. I sighed and leaned back against the counter, facing him. His eyes darted over me like they always did.

"I wanted to see why you did it." I said starting to feel uncomfortable. "I hadn't been up there and I couldn't go alone."

"But you were alone."

"Look," Memories flashed in my mind and I started to get nervous. I couldn't go back to that memory just yet. That had been the closest I'd come to committing suicide because of him. I wasn't ready to talk about it with him. He wouldn't understand and I didn't have enough in me to explain it to him. "I don't want to talk about this. Can't you find something else to do? Here, you can help chop carrots." I turned around and grabbed the carrots I had brought out with a cutting board and knife back to the table. He looked at me like I was joking. "But no smoking. I don't want ash in my food." He still looked at me like I was going to take it all back any second. I just smiled at him and turned back to the other vegetables that needed chopping, grabbing another knife from the drawer. After a minute or two I heard the distinct noise of blade hitting board behind me. I smirked at the wall in front of me. I got Sherlock cooking.

"Mycroft didn't say whether he'd come or not." I said towards the wall and the chopping stopped behind me.

"You invited Mycroft?" He did not sound happy about that. I didn't think he would be.

"I apparently have a lot to thank him for. Plus he has all your things-"

"So send him an email! Don't invite him to dinner!"

"He didn't even say if he would come!"

"Un-invite him."

"I'm not going to un-invite your brother Sherlock." He growled at me and picked up his violin swirling around and stomping into the living room. I sighed and dumped out the cigarettes in his ash tray before washing my hands and picking up the carrots he had chopped.

In the next room a harsh sound started to pour out. I pinched the bridge of my nose at it. It wasn't the comforting lullaby that my hallucinations played for me. It was harsh, and loud, and very much so out of tune. My hallucinations had tuned it so I wondered if that was me tuning or if it just remained untuned and untouched this entire time. If it was me it was probably worse off.

I ignored the noise best I could before continuing making dinner. He was just annoyed with me and throwing his little temper tantrum. I had to see Mrs. Hudson beforehand anyway to prepare her for seeing Sherlock. Not that she couldn't hear him right now.

I quickly finished off what I was doing and put the chickens in the oven before turning and walking to the door. I shut it behind me relishing in the lack of harsh noise. At that point it was almost background noise but it still was starting to give me a headache.

I walked down to Mrs. Hudson's door and knocked. She wasn't expecting me before dinner so she wouldn't be expecting this. She _really_ wouldn't be expecting this. I just hoped she was ready for me.

She opened the door and grinned when she saw me.

"Hello John!"

"Hi Mrs. Hudson. Can I-"

"Oh yes. Come in, come in. I just finished off that cake for tonight. That's still going on isn't it?" I followed her into the kitchen and stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"Yes. That's still going on."

"You smell of smoke John." She said with surprise and shock as she sniffed the air around me. "Have you picked it up?"

"No. I haven't." Well that was an awkward way to start this conversation. She looked at me confused for a moment but shoved whatever thought she had aside with her hands and continued.

"Well what can I do for you?"

I found my mouth gaping open at her but I wasn't saying anything.

I thought about not telling her and canceling the dinner, for a moment. Sherlock was in a bad mood and she wouldn't want to see him the first time like that.

I was just making excuses though. I really just didn't know how to handle this.

"Well I have something to tell you, and I don't think you'll believe me." She looked at me curiously and I wrung my hands uncomfortably. Probably best to just say it. "You may want to sit down."

"I don't like this John. What's going on?" She sat down anyway and I pulled a chair out in front of her and sat down. I wasn't sure what to do with myself really so I grabbed one of her hands off the table. I patted it a few times before looking her in the eyes. She looked at me worried and I gave her an uncertain smile.

"Sherlock…um…well...he's alive...actually. He's upstairs..." There was that look of pity again. I hadn't seen that look given to me since I got over the hospital visit. "I know it sounds crazy but it's true."

"John," she patted the back of my hand and gave me another pitied look. "Have you stopped seeing your therapist?"

"No." I had expected she would ask something like that. I kept her in the loop on the therapist visits and my antidepressant medication. It made her feel better to know. She never spoke about me talking to myself all the time before then but I knew that was what she was worried about. She probably thought that's what this was. I never told her about the hallucinations but she probably guessed something like that.

"Have you taken your pill yet today?"

"Not yet. If you just come upstairs with me, you'll see. I promise." She looked at me with a frown a moment longer but something changed her mind because she got up and moved towards her cake.

"Carry that up for me won't you dear?" I nodded at her and lifted the tray as she put the cover over top.

We walked up the stairs and I stopped at the door with my hand on the knob. I turned back to her and she was looking at me with her eyebrows raised.

"Well go on dear." She shooed me forward but I didn't turn the knob yet.

"Just…prepare yourself." I didn't know what else to say so I opened the door and let it swing against the wall. I moved into the room and saw Sherlock was not in the living room anymore. I walked in frightened for a moment that I was the only one that could see him but made myself push that thought out of my mind. I had to believe this was real because it was. Then I thought that he was going to play some terrible joke on me just because Mycroft may or may not have been coming.

Then when I turned to the kitchen I saw him nonchalantly sitting with my laptop open again. He had a look of disinterest but I could tell that was only to be more dramatic for her arrival. He was loving every second of it.

"The entire flat smells of smoke John. I don't think-" I could feel Mrs. Hudson stop in her tracks behind me. I turned and sure enough her mouth was open and there was shock in her eyes. Quickly I set down the cake and pulled out a chair which I quickly led her to. "Sherlock?" She gasped out.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson. Your sisters went well I see. Won some money in a card game, did you not?" He didn't even look away from the screen. God he could be infuriating.

Mrs. Hudson looked like she was searching for words but couldn't find them. I went to put a hand on her to tell her it was alright but she jumped out of her chair and started slapping Sherlock's arm like crazy. Sherlock didn't seem too shocked but he flinched away all the same.

"Sherlock!" She yelled out in between hits. "You-" Another slap. "Complete-". Another slap. "Blockhead!" Another couple of slaps.

"Mrs. Hudson I-" She slapped him a few more times making him shut up before she pulled away and glared him down.

"Do you have any idea what you did to us? What you did to John?"

She glared him down more and a look of shame came over his face.

It was brilliant.

This was nothing like what I had expected. It was like he was being scolded by his mother. He kind of was. That and I liked that Mrs. Hudson tried to make him feel guilty.

Just a bit.

"You stupid, stupid boy." She wrapped him back up into her with a hug this time. He tensed at first but relaxed into it and let her. He even brought his hands back up around her to hug her back. I could hear her start to cry so I started to make tea.

Tea fixed everything.


	15. Chapter 15

Mrs. Hudson stuck around the flat, helping me make dinner and talking to Sherlock. Sherlock didn't dive into his story and tell her all he told me but he told her the basic things; he faked his death, he's been doing cases, and he's back to stay.

Apparently Mrs. Hudson did win some money in a card game with her sister and their friends. Sherlock told us he knew by the new bracelet she had just bought herself. He could tell it was new and not something she would normally buy for herself unless she came into some extra money. He already knew she had been at her sisters and he knew she wasn't one to gamble at casinos or play the lottery so he figured it had to be something at home. That and apparently a paper cut gave away it was a card game.

Brilliant as ever.

It wasn't too long before Lestrade made his way over. He said hello to everyone and couldn't rid himself of the look of shock when he saw Sherlock. I couldn't blame him. It had only been a night since he saw him. He actually had a better reaction than I expected him too.

Then again Greg only needed to see Sherlock to understand he was real and alive. Sherlock had to kiss me. I couldn't imagine Lestrade would be looking at him in the same way if Sherlock had to kiss him back to reality. I found, even jokingly, I didn't like that idea.

For a moment I worried if everyone would be able to tell that things between Sherlock and I had changed. If they even had changed. Really I was still confused by the entirety of it. The night would probably be too hectic for anyone to notice though. It wasn't as though we would announce we had kissed. Only Mycroft would be able to tell and that was if he was coming. I suddenly wished he wasn't.

I turned back to my kitchen duties as everyone moved into the living room and I shooed off Mrs. Hudson's offers to help.

"It is still hard to believe you're actually back." Lestrade said at Sherlock shaking his head and sitting in my chair. Sherlock didn't answer him but continued glaring at him as his eyes bounced all around him. Lestrade shifted under the stare and awkwardly put the bottle of wine he brought on the side table while asking; "What?"

Sherlock squinted his eyes and made a face of a cross between a pout and a scowl while he threw himself on his own chair. "Mycroft is coming." He grumbled out loud to, I assumed, me.

"He is?" I asked from my place in the kitchen. "How do you know?"

"Lestrade." Sherlock spat out the name and I moved to the doorway to see what he meant. I looked at Lestrade who looked at me fairly confused. He hadn't said Mycroft was coming, I wouldn't know how he would even know, and he looked like the same old Lestrade to me. That of course meant nothing.

"What? I didn't say anything." Lestrade asked defensively, throwing his arms across his chest.

"It was nothing you said."

"Well then how-" Lestrade started.

"Don't-" I tried to stop him from asking but I was too late.

"Your shoes and the wine." Sherlock started to answer and I moved back into the kitchen to finish up before I would have to deal with the aftermath.

"What-" Lestrade sputtered out before Sherlock continued.

"Shoes. Brand new, not your usual pair. You wouldn't look past your normal cheap brand normally and especially not with the divorce you can't afford to. So they were a gift. Who would gift them to you? Not a stranger, someone who you have a relationship with. Family wouldn't spend that much. Not a woman. A woman wouldn't spend that much on a man she'd known for only a short while. You haven't been single long enough to be in a relationship that long. Not unless she was rich and wanted to buy you things in exchange for your services, in which case you would have many more expensive items which you do not. Therefore a man. An old friend would be obvious but you don't have that many close friends. In fact most of your friends are co-workers, none of which would be willing to buy you an expensive gift on their salary. Other than that is John who I know would not buy you such a gift. Knowing him he would buy you some hideous embroidered wool-"

"Hey!" I called from the kitchen getting ready to shut him up. He really was not letting the jumper thing go. I liked them.

"So who else? Must be a new friend. But who would you recently of met that John wouldn't know about? No one. It had to of been someone you've known for a long time. Someone with money. On top of that you wore them here tonight when this is not a formal event suggesting you wanted to wear them to show them off. To who? Well if it's not obvious by now the wine made it so. Normally you would bring beer over to any get together but if you're trying to impress someone you bring over wine. Why? You know John isn't drinking. I doubt you're trying to impress Mrs. Hudson or myself. There was only one other person invited to this dinner. He also likes wine. Therefore Mycroft is coming and Lestrade can't wait." Sherlock said in an incredibly teasing tone.

There was a tiny silence after that as everyone looked over at Lestrade who was clearly growing increasingly uncomfortable. "I'm not trying to impress anyone." Lestrade said pulling his arms closer over his body. Sherlock smirked over at him with a look of triumph on his face.

That was obviously a lie.

Even I could tell that.

"How'd you and Mycroft get to be friends?" I asked from the kitchen as I set out another spot for Mycroft.

I hoped I could make Lestrade a little less uncomfortable by talking. Sherlock wasn't going to do that. There was something about the tone of his voice that was teasing Lestrade. It was nearing on suggestive and I didn't like him poking fun at him like that.

I was a little curious too. It explained why Mycroft tried to see how I was doing when it was so out of character for him. I was probably right about Lestrade pushing him into asking me. It also explained how Lestrade had Mycroft's information for sending Sherlock's stuff out.

I looked out of the kitchen and saw an amused Sherlock, a confused Mrs. Hudson, and the reddening face of Lestrade. He shifted uncomfortably before answering. "After Sherlock…well you know. I helped him out with a couple of favors. Then Myc helped me out with a case." Sherlock scoffed at the nickname. "Then we kind of just kept talking."

"So he's coming?" I asked ignoring Sherlock. Maybe if Mycroft and Lestrade really were friends, Mycroft would have the decency to not point out my new found physical relations with Sherlock. As long as Sherlock was nicer to both of them. I didn't really get why he was so cranky about the two of them talking. Did he not want his brother to have friends?

More like he didn't want to share the ones he already had.

"He said he'd stop by." Lestrade said glaring at Sherlock. Sherlock looked him up and down and his mouth turned up into a devilish grin.

"You two had a fight." Sherlock said leaning forward like a gossiping teen as Lestrade frowned.

"Can we not talk about this anymore?" Lestrade tried but Sherlock continued.

"He didn't tell you I was alive. That wine is apology wine." Sherlock raised his eyebrows to challenge Lestrade who just ran a hand down his face and turned to Mrs. Hudson.

"So Mrs. Hudson, done anything fun lately?"

Sherlock looked at me and grinned knowing he figured out something. I glared at him for bringing that subject up, but my frown faulted and I couldn't help but smile at him a little. Then I smiled more at the thought of Mycroft and Lestrade being friends. It just didn't seem like something that would have happened.

Dinner was out soon after and everyone moved into the kitchen. We all talked about random things, mostly about Sherlock's disappearance. Now that everyone was present, he dove into the story of how he faked his death, leaving out the why and where he went after. He just loved to tell it.

I didn't like it as much because it just reminded me of how much the plan was meant to trick and hurt me. That I was mad at him still. But as he was talking and moving around the kitchen I felt his hand come down on my shoulder and squeeze gently. I thought I might have imagined it but when I looked at him again he gave me a short smile and a quick wink.

So I listened to what he had to say, again, without making any comments.

After dinner Mrs. Hudson and I cleaned everything up as Lestrade and Sherlock talked in the next room. Mycroft still hadn't shown up and I doubted that he would. While they were in the next room, I popped back my antidepressant looking over quickly to see if anyone saw. I wasn't ashamed but I didn't need anyone questioning me.

Sherlock of course saw.

As soon as I put the glass of water down I could feel his eyes on me. One quick look over my shoulder and I saw that was true.

He didn't say anything, he just continued to talk to Lestrade.

"So do you think you'll be working cases again?" Lestrade was asking him.

"Yes you can call me. I'm sure you'll need to very soon." Sherlock responded but I could still feel his eyes on me.

I wanted to turn and ask him how he was able to do cases. He said he made a deal with Victor but Victor wasn't the one in charge. He would have to ask someone. How could he have an answer already?

Then again these were Moriarty's people. He probably did have a deal going already but I still wanted to know what it was. I hated that he wouldn't tell me. I would have to bring that up after everyone left, along with the withdrawal questions I had for him.

I probably would also have to ask about what he meant by _very soon_. Was he just being an ass? Or did he know something?

When I looked back at Sherlock again I saw him fishing out a cigarette. I saw the look of worry on Lestrade's face reflected in the window but I was glad he didn't say anything. He looked over at me and I shook my head slightly. He knew not to ask.

"Well I must say, I'm looking forward to the look on everyone's face when you come back." Lestrade continued, looking back at Sherlock and ignoring the smoke.

"Yes I can't imagine they'll be pleased. Even if your success rate has dramatically decreased since I've been gone."

Lestrade ignored the jab and continued, "Well just think about the look on Donovan and Anderson's faces."

"Yes that will be quite amusing." Sherlock said with a smile, no doubt calculating the muscles they would use in their face to show complete shock, annoyance, and fear.

As they continued to talk Mrs. Hudson poked me in the side, stealing my gaze from Sherlock, and handing me another dish to dry.

"How are you John?" She asked with obvious intention.

"I'm alright." I answered, worried about what else to say.

She had sat through all of Sherlock's story so she knew how he saved all our lives and she knew what he did to me in order to do it. Really he did it to all of us. I thought I was fairly fine for having gone through all of that. She of course wouldn't take that and leave it.

"John I think you've lied to me enough about how you've been."

She had a point there. A very guilty point.

"I'm fine. It's just a little hard. A little confusing." Who would know what to do in this situation?

"Well no one blames you dear. I can't imagine how you're handling this so well."

Images of her slapping Sherlock silly popped back through my mind. She probably imagined she could have dealt with it better. I hoped I was wrong. I was glad she handled it like that really. "Yeah you kind of got to do what I wanted to when I first saw him back." I said with a chuckle.

"Have you talked about it with him?"

The fight I had with Sherlock was still fresh in my mind. As was the way it ended. "As best as I could. We talked it out but it's still a lot."

"Well dear I know how hard he can be to talk to. The smart ones always are. But do remember, no matter what, he came back for you. There's a reason he did."

She was knowingly smiling over at me. The way she smiled when she first suggested Sherlock and I could share a bedroom. Did she know something?

I thought she always smiled. No matter what the situation. I wouldn't know what she knew.

I smiled back and peeked over my shoulder at Sherlock who was blowing smoke slowly into the air. He was answering Lestrade but his eyes soon turned to me as if he knew I was looking at him. He kept talking even with his eyes locked on mine.

"Yes. I suppose he did." I responded to Mrs. Hudson with my eyes still stuck on Sherlock.

Not too long after I finished the dishes there was a knock at the door. I guessed Mycroft did decide to come after all.

Sherlock glared at it and I yelled, "Come in!"

Mycroft came walking in with his umbrella clicking along the floor. He was dressed in a dark grey suit, far out of my price range. His hair was slicked back and he had that fake, creepy smile he always wore on his face. I thought it was creepy anyway. Then again politicians always seemed to have a creepy smile. It was never real.

"Hello dear brother." I heard Mycroft's voice from the kitchen as I dried off my hands with a towel.

"Brother." Sherlock growled back. I turned and he was stamping out his cigarette in an ash tray by the window with more force than necessary. I doubted those two would ever really get along.

"Gregory." Mycroft had turned towards Lestrade with a bow of his head and Lestrade waved a bit from the chair.

"Hey Myc." I could hear Sherlock huff again from the window.

"Hello Mycroft." I walked over to the edge of the kitchen and he turned to face me.

"John, Mrs. Hudson. Nice to see you." That smile made me think it wasn't really nice. More like necessary. "I can't stay long but-" He stopped mid-sentence as he scanned his eyes across the kitchen. "Is that cake?"

"Yes. German chocolate." Mrs. Hudson answered for us. "We we're just about to cut it. Would you like some? I made it myself."

"Yes." The hint of a genuine smile played at his lips. "That sounds doable. Thank you Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft smiled and walked his way over to the couch where he sat and turned towards Lestrade.

"How's the diet Mycroft?" Sherlock asked with a smirk. Mycroft glared at him and he smiled back. Then Mycroft started up talking to Lestrade and Sherlock grunted and made his way into the kitchen already bored.

Mrs. Hudson started to cut the cake and I helped her put it on plates while Sherlock watched. He hadn't eaten much of his dinner. I figured he might eat something sweet so I had Mrs. Hudson cut off a piece for him. She was bringing out Mycroft's and Lestrade's piece while I stayed with Sherlock in the back corner of the kitchen.

I handed Sherlock his cake and he looked at it without taking it. I put it down on the counter next to him.

"It's good you know. You should try some at least." He glared at me a bit more. This was not just about the food. "Are you upset because your brother is here? He said he would leave soon."

"You took your Paxil." Sherlock said simply still glaring down at me, leaning against the counter.

"Yes, it is a daily thing." Why was he mad at me for taking my antidepressant? Even he couldn't find a way to be mad about that.

"Yes it is." Sherlock started to walk away without saying anything else but I grabbed his arm.

"Sherlock." I pulled him in front of me, glancing to make sure everyone in the living room was occupied. They all were, eating cake. "What's wrong? Why does me taking my pill upset you?" Sherlock opened his mouth to answer me but I cut him off before he could say whatever it was. "Don't lie."

"It means you're still unsure if this is real." Sherlock said with a bit of a frown.

Well I couldn't exactly argue against that. I did take it because I thought I needed to. I was afraid if I stopped that the hallucinations would come back. I was afraid if I stopped that this reality wouldn't stay.

When I was crazy, I wasn't taking the pills. When I was sane again, I was taking the pills.

If I kept taking the pills a part of me felt reassured that this reality was the real one. If I stopped, I wouldn't be sure what was real.

If I stopped taking the pills and Sherlock disappeared, I would be absolutely and completely lost. I wouldn't know when I was sane or if I was ever sane. I would think that I had just made Sherlock up altogether. Meeting him for the first time years ago and everything following.

If I stopped taking the pills and Sherlock was still there, I would be continuously worried that he wasn't real. Even with my pill taking logic, I would still think I could have been making him up. Even now he was correct in the idea that I still wasn't completely sure what was real. He had to understand though. He couldn't be upset with me over this.

"Sherlock, of course I'm still unsure if this is real. I've spent months not knowing what was real and worried about what was and wasn't. I can't just get rid of that in a day."

"You said you believed I was real."

"And I do. But that doesn't mean I don't question what I believe." He looked down at me a bit more and I could tell he was trying to get over whatever petty part of him believed his appearance would cure me. I was pretty sure that was what he was doing. That or he was just studying me more to figure out my mind. I liked to think it was my first idea. "Now here, try some cake and we can talk later."

I pulled some cake onto my fork from my plate and held it up to his mouth. He looked down at it, over at me, and back down. I poked his bottom lip with my fork and he opened his mouth. When I looked up at him to make sure he wasn't making any faces, he had his eyes on me and I found it very hard to look away. He moved his mouth over my fork, wrapping his lips slowly around it, and pulled his mouth off slow, keeping his eyes on mine. I felt my mouth drop open a bit as he did so and I stared as he licked a bit of frosting off his curved top lip.

"You're right. That is good." He said in a hushed, low voice before he strutted out of the kitchen and moved to sit back down in the living room.

My mouth was still gaping open as I watched him leave the room. He turned to me and placed two of his fingers on the bottom of his chin and mimed shutting his mouth with them. I blushed as I realized he was telling me to close my mouth.

He did that on purpose.

Everyone talked a bit more before Mycroft announced that he was leaving. Lestrade said that he was going to go too and Mrs. Hudson said she would help clean and go.

As they were leaving I pulled Mycroft over to the side. It was a bit awkward because there were very few times I had ever been alone with him. None of them were comfortable. "Right. I just wanted to say thank you for all you did for me while Sherlock was away."

"It was no inconvenience. I can promise you." I think that was a '_you're welcome'_. "Brother dear, your things will be brought back tomorrow. Goodnight everyone." With that he left. Lestrade looked like he wanted to follow but I pulled him to the side too before he could.

"Greg, real quick. I just wanted to say sorry for…well everything. Not telling you and…well not thinking you were real."

"Yes, yes. No problem John. Really it's alright. I'll talk to you soon okay?" He looked like he really wanted to leave.

"Alright. Thanks again and have a good night."

"You too." With that he bolted out of the door. I smiled a bit at that. Chasing after a Holmes was a familiar thing for me.

Mrs. Hudson popped up behind me. "Well dears, I better be off." She turned to Sherlock and gave him another hug he stiffened against in surprise. "Don't do something stupid like that again young man." He nodded his head at her and she turned to me. "Take care John. I'll see you soon."

"Take care Mrs. Hudson." I waved as she went down the stairs and back down to her flat.

With the flat empty with just Sherlock and I, I felt I could breathe again. I hadn't had to throw a dinner like that in a very, very long time.

My breathing didn't last long though because as soon as I turned I saw Sherlock lighting up another cigarette, jumping from foot to foot as he did so.

"Sherlock-" I started but he cut me off.

"Oh no." He flung himself over onto the couch and spread out with his feet on the top of the back. "You want to talk don't you?"

"Yeah actually." He sounded enthused in the least bit possible.

"Well what about? My smoking or my working cases or whatever you were talking to Mrs. Hudson about?"

He was probably taking tabs on everything that had crossed my mind all night.

"I guess all."

"Well get on with it then."

I thought about arguing how he wasn't going to look at me but I figured it wouldn't matter to argue. If he wasn't, he wasn't. I would just have to make him listen.

"Victor. You saw him again?" I didn't think he expected me to ask that first. Then again that was just me thinking that. He didn't show any reaction other than taking a drag and blowing the smoke up into the air.

"Yes."

My heart sank a bit. It felt like a betrayal, even if I knew it wasn't. It was something Sherlock had to do.

"You finish that deal?"

"Yes."

"And you're still not going to tell me what it was."

"No."

Great. One word answers. Just what I wanted.

"I'm not happy about this." I tried saying.

"I'm aware."

Ooh two words.

There was no way I could have a real conversation when he was like this. We already talked about it anyway. Sort of. Not like I would like but Sherlock wasn't one to talk about something twice.

"Alright." Time to move to a different subject. "Smoking. You're covering up your withdrawal symptoms."

"I'm not covering it up. I'm transferring." He took another drag and blew the smoke towards me this time.

"I thought you said you'd come to me when you had symptoms."

"I said I'd come to you if I thought I couldn't deal with it. I'm dealing with it."

"Transferring is not dealing. Not completely." He didn't say anything. "Come to me next time." Why did I always have to beg? I just wanted to make sure he was okay. He didn't have to make my worrying any worse. "Whenever you're feeling symptoms and want to smoke. I don't care if it's bad or not, I want to know about it."

"It doesn't make sense. Why-"

"It doesn't have to make sense. Just do it because I ask."

"I don't-"

"Sherlock."

"Fine."

Finally. I won something.

"Good. Now is there something you wanted to talk about?" I asked because I didn't really want to talk about Mrs. Hudson and her insinuations, and because of what Sherlock and I talked about in the kitchen. I didn't think he'd bring up my antidepressants again, meaning I would have to.

"Me? What could I possibly have to talk about?"

Why would I expect Sherlock to talk about his feelings? No, I would just have to go to bed without talking about it.

I was done for the night anyway. Anything I had to talk about could be talked about later.

"I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

I got up and went to the bathroom to get ready before Sherlock could say something else. I didn't think he would.

I walked up the stairs to my room without having him say anything again.

* * *

I woke up a couple of hours later to someone standing over me. I jumped and reached to my nightstand for my gun but a hand caught it before I could reach. I blinked rapidly and found Sherlock gripping my wrist tightly, glaring down at me.

"Sherlock?" I rubbed my eyes as he let my wrist go and I turned to face the clock next to my bed. It was the middle of the night. "What's wrong?"

"You said to come to you when I had symptoms. I'm doing that." I pushed up into a sitting position with my back against the headboard and looked at him. He was tapping his fingers incessantly against his leg looking down at me with a frown.

"Grab a cigarette then." The doctor in me both hated saying that and knew he needed one. It was much better to have cigarettes than cocaine.

He didn't waste time in reaching into his pockets and grabbing one out. He popped it quick into his mouth and lit it, creating a small glow in my dark room. He breathed in deep and I could see him already starting to visibly relax.

"I'm smoking in your room." I was pretty sure he was supposed to be asking that and not saying it.

"Yes and you're not leaving till your craving goes away."

"Why?" He sounded more bored than anything but he continued to stand next to my bed looking down at me.

"You're an addict Sherlock. You have a stash somewhere in the apartment or you have a way of getting some. I don't want you alone when you're having a craving." He listened to me and nodded before sitting down next to me on my bed facing out towards the door. "Sherlock-"

What did he think he was doing?

"You'll be up for a while. This feels like a four stick craving."

"You have them numbered? Stupid question." Of course he did. He had his patches numbered, this was the same. I rolled my head back onto the bored and stared out into the dark of my room. "Well what do you-"

"We don't have to talk John."

"If we don't talk, I'll fall asleep." What to talk about? Sherlock would hate me for bringing it up but I had to. Now that I was awake, it was bothering me that he didn't talk about the antidepressants again. I didn't want him to feel bad about it. It was me, not him. "You know, just because I'm questioning myself doesn't mean I question you."

I wasn't sure if that was what he was worried about but I figured it was. I had thought about it while falling asleep. He was emotionally affected by me taking my antidepressant. It only made sense that he was disappointed and there were only a few things that would cause that.

Either he was disappointed that I was crazy, which I highly doubted. Guilty, maybe, but not disappointed.

Or he was disappointed that I couldn't believe him completely. Which would be due to the part where I was crazy.

"I mean, I'm still going to have to learn to trust you again but I don't question you."

Even that was a bit of a lie. I realized the more I hung around him the easier it was to believe I trusted him again. I would trust him with my life. That was both dangerous and comforting.

It was just the few things he wasn't telling me. Mostly the Victor thing. That and the reading of my journal but I expected that. I didn't expect to be kept out of the loop though. I had no idea who Victor really was.

He took a drag from his cigarette before answering me. "I would tell you about the deal I made if I could. I'm afraid it is one of those things you will have to trust me on."

"I'll try." I would but I wasn't going to like it. "Can you tell me anything about it?"

He paused a moment, probably calculating what he was allowed to say. "I can do cases brought forward by the Yard. Not brought by anyone else. People can know I'm alive but I need to watch myself. "

That must have been some deal. To be able to be brought back into the public eye as the genius who faked his own death? What did he give up? What did he offer?

"What about the blog? Your website?" I asked, knowing Sherlock wouldn't tell me what he gave up.

"Allowed."

I nodded my head but it didn't make me feel better. Sure I'd have something to do but at what cost?

He finished off his cigarette and pulled out another one. As he lit it he slid back on my bed and joined me by leaning on the headboard. I noticed he took his shoes off before putting his feet on my bed. I appreciated it.

"There is something else you wanted to talk about." Sherlock said and I looked over at him. Puffs of smoke came out of his mouth with every breath. He looked over at me and I couldn't help my heart skipping a beat.

The only other thing I could think of was about…well…us. Mrs. Hudson reminding me he came back for me brought all the confusion from the three kisses back. I did want to talk about it but did he? And by want to talk about it I meant I thought I should but I really didn't want it to get uncomfortable.

"Yeah?" That was brilliant of me to ask. I sounded like an idiot.

"You want to know why. Why I kissed you. Why you kissed me back."

"I do." I meant for that to come out as a question but my voice kind of cracked so it couldn't be defined as either a question or statement.

"I don't like to talk about these things but I know you won't let it go, so, I'll tell you." What a romantic. "I care for you John. I realized that more when I was away. I planned to visit you, to make sure you were alright, and then leave. Go back to my cases. Then when I saw you, I couldn't. When I saw you in the flat I thought I could suppress these feelings, these emotions, but I couldn't. I had to see you and it was a bad decision on my part. You were doing fine and I could have continued my work. I let my emotions get the better of me." He paused to take another puff on his cigarette. "Mycroft always said caring was a weakness. When I found you were hallucinating I was going to let you think I was one of them. I had said my hello and you didn't want me and I could live with that. At first. But then you kept saying I wasn't real. Then I found out how far your relationship went. I had…hope. And I couldn't leave after that. When you said you loved me," he stumbled a bit on the words, "something happened. I did kiss you to make you realize what was real but then I waited as long as I could and then I couldn't help myself. Human hormones and chemical reactions. I feel I care for you and I want to kiss you. I don't know if this is love like you feel. I haven't loved someone before. Love isn't..." He took another drag before continuing. "Your next question will be where does that put us? I don't know. I say we don't put a label on it. We just do what feels right. I don't want to lose you John."

"I don't want to lose you either Sherlock." I ran my hand over and found his, the one without the cigarette. I felt him jump at the touch but he opened his hand and I slipped it in. I smiled up at him in the dark as he stared out into the space in front of him.

So Sherlock had feelings. Sherlock cared about me and he wasn't going to leave. Sherlock had 'human hormones and chemical reactions'. That was the most romantic thing I'd ever heard.

So he didn't know if he loved me? That was fine. I could live with him just as he was. I could do what felt right because I really didn't want him to go.

"If you tell anyone I talked about my feelings I'm going to tell them you hallucinated it."

"Alright Sherlock." I laughed.

After that we talked a bit more, poking fun at Mycroft. I asked about why Lestrade was trying to impress him but Sherlock wouldn't tell me. It only made me think I was right about his insinuation from before. Maybe I wasn't the only one who fell for a Holmes. I really couldn't picture Lestrade going for Mycroft like that but then again I never pictured myself going after Sherlock.

The entire thing reminded Sherlock of a case and it was one he hadn't told me about yet. He started talking and I listened while he smoked his cigarettes. I listened and listened but my eyes were getting heavy along with my head. More than once I caught it falling to the side and landing on Sherlock's shoulder.

* * *

When my alarm went off I found I was still sitting up. Sherlock was still next to me. And I was sleeping on his shoulder. I jumped up to turn my alarm off but found my hand was stuck. It was still inside of his. I looked over at him and he was already awake. My room smelled of cigarette smoke but he wasn't smoking any more. He let my hand go and I turned off the alarm, stretching to wake myself up and work out the kinks from that awkward angle.

"Morning." I said a little embarrassed. I wasn't sure if Sherlock minded sleeping up here. I wasn't sure why he didn't push me off or go downstairs. I didn't mind though. At least I knew he didn't get up to satisfy his craving in an unsatisfactory way. I would have woken if he moved.

"Good morning." He responded allowing me to get up and move over to my clothes. I pulled my clothes out for the day and turned to find him gone already.

He was in the bathroom when I came down the stairs and I had to wait to take my shower. I was a little embarrassed still but was surprised that it didn't feel uncomfortable. Sherlock had told me much more than I thought he would. I was happy doing what we were doing, now knowing how he felt. We would just see where things went.

That morning went by like normal and I went off to work with a simple, "Don't burn down the apartment!" He didn't have any equipment but I was sure he could find a way.

It was a great way to start my day.

* * *

**AN: **And there is a tiny bit of fluff for you.

Wow, two peoples actually liked the FB page. I didn't expect that. Thanks ;) I bet now you can tell who I am and what I look like so you can actually visualize me winking at you...creepy? I don't know.

Someone said something about Occlumency in a review before...I did not think of that. That's pretty awesome. So either someone needs to write a Harry Potter/Sherlock cross over, find one and send it to me, or I'm going to have to add another fic idea to the list. Sherlock with magic...let the world quake in fear. Holy crap that's actually pretty cool. I wish I had the time. If I give you guys the plot would you write it for me? John's could be a hobbit and Sherlock and Moriarty are wizards and ... this has to be written already. If its not it really should be. Seriously, I"ll give you all the plot. Just message me :) Or you'll have to wait forever for me to write it because that's what its looking like. Forever.

PS- thanks to those who jumped over here from my Merlin fic. I hope you like this one too (even if it is more feels-y and less smut-y)


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: **Someone was worried I was done writing. You guys have about 10 chapters left approximately. Each chapter has a purpose for being there and yes they have more stuff to do. So don't get bored on me. I hope your not bored. I don't think you are. I'm a writer, I'm automatically self conscious.

Sherlock POV

* * *

Dinner. Why must people always insist upon it?

I didn't see the point to all of it. They were all going to know I was back at some point. Most of them did already, so there wasn't anything beneficial out of holding a gathering. Not on my part anyway.

I wasn't happy and John wasn't happy so why should two unhappy people invite more over? It wasn't very logical.

I knew John would want to talk with me more about Victor and the deal I made with Moran. He didn't need to know I had met with Victor again while I was out getting proper clothes and other things, including cigarettes. They had accepted the deal I had laid out, as I expected.

Now I knew. I could go back to the life I had before as long as I kept up my end of the deal. I didn't see any other option and though I knew John would not be happy with my decision, he wasn't going to find out about it. He would not appreciate me keeping things from him but he was just going to have to live with it. Quite literally.

I wasn't helping John's trust issues by looking at his journal but it was practically screaming at me to open it. How could I resist an encrypted file on John's computer? I was bored and it was almost too easy to hack. Then everything I wanted to know was just laid out in front of me, waiting to be read.

So I did.

And I finally knew everything when I was done. I knew how John fell into his delusional state. I knew what his hallucinations said to him. I knew what he said back. I knew how corrupted he was. I knew how he felt and why. I knew exactly why he did everything he did during his break from reality and presently, because of it.

Almost.

I was confused as to why he visited the rooftop after all that time. I had particular interest in it because of how it had affected John. I was sure not all the details were present in the journal but I knew John well enough to know it was a devastating experience. One that he led himself to. Based off the word usage, the flow, and the gaps, I could piece together that he was not only on the roof but on the ledge. John was about to give up. Copletely.

But something changed his mind.

I knew that something was me.

It was horribly distressing to know that the cause of John's near suicide was my fault and his reasoning to save himself was mine as well. I held lives in my hand multiple times before but never would it be as burdening as holding John's. And I wasn't even there.

I needed to make sure it never came to that again. Now that I was back for good I was going to protect John from ever feeling like that again. Much like how he liked to protect me from the outside world, both with his gun and his words.

No one was going to hurt him.

Not even me.

Of course I had to ask the source about what following the hallucination to the rooftop was about. I had been pouring over the journal for too long when he could just tell me.

While my asking did lead to him being even less happy with me, it also proved my conclusion that he kept my purple silk shirt in his room. I never told John about why he chose that shirt. Not only did he find me attractive in it, something even an ordinary person could see, causing a memory connection, but also I planted it.

John had asked me to give him a sign that I was still alive many times after my fall. He had looked everywhere but couldn't see what was right in front of him.

He never asked himself why a shirt, made of that material, was folded up in a drawer while all others were hanging properly in the closet. I had put it there for him to find before I left for good. I knew he would go looking in my room at some point and I wanted him to have hope. It was foolish of me really. If Moriarty or Moran saw he had any slimmer of hope then they would have squashed it down for good.

John didn't see though.

Always missing the obvious. He didn't need to know he had missed my sign. It would only cause him more grief.

When I picked up the shirt after finding it in his room I had the instant connection I had been missing. It was the thing that I had hoped John would keep from my room. He didn't know it was a sign from me on a conscious level but he kept it. It was the one bit of everything that I had hoped he would not give away.

The violin was also something I was pleased that he didn't give away. John was probably one of the very few who knew its true value to me. Even I could admit it was an outlet for me. A way to express myself when nothing else would. It helped me concentrate. It helped me think.

Harriet Watson obviously didn't know how important it was. I could see the marks where it had landed on the floor and where the craftsman had fixed it over. She had harmed my violin and she was not going to get away with it.

I made sure he knew I appreciated it. I believed a kiss was in order.

Actually I believed it was after I had already done it. My body had betrayed me again and acted without my permission. I didn't care to correct it though. This was one action we could agree upon.

Then John had to go and ruin everything by inviting Mycroft.

There was a reason I still didn't have my things. I didn't want to see him. I wanted nothing to do with him. Just because he paid for my expenses over the past months, something he was obligated to do in my opinion, did not mean I needed to see him.

I didn't see why Mycroft would even want to come. I was sure he wouldn't but there was still the off chance that he would. No doubt to try and scold me or some other nonsense. I didn't need it. But John just couldn't uninvited him like I asked. He was already treating me with the domesticity of a relationship. It was infuriating. It was quite normal actually.

Still infuriating.

Seeing Mrs. Hudson was...pleasant. After she stopped hitting me.

I would never admit it aloud but she was one of the people I missed. I was sorry to have caused her any grief. She was one of the very few people who accepted me for who I was, even if she couldn't understand it herself.

She also yelled at Mycroft and I enjoyed anyone who was willing to do that.

Mummy never did that. Mycroft was her favorite little smarty pants. She loved how intelligent he was and how he could quickly rise through the ranks of the school, practically controlling it himself through his various positions. He just knew when to shut up really.

I never learned that.

She never knew what to do with me. While Mycroft was smart, I was a genius. We both had similar abilities but I fine-tuned mine while he kept his attention on his social network. I had no purpose for such social ties. Even if I tried to make friends, I always scared them off. Mycroft was the one who informed me of my sociopath status.

While Mycroft was endearing to her, I was a mess. Mummy was fairly intelligent but she was an ordinary woman. She didn't understand me and I scared her. No six year old should know the periodic table by heart already.

She tried her best, getting me therapists and outside teachers for school to try and help me learn as much as possible.

I didn't need them though.

I was fine on my own.

I loved my mother but she was quite the idiot herself when it came to relationships. I tried to explain to her on more than one occasion how social ties only held me back and they were holding her back too. She would date man after man and they would all leave her, leaving her distraught each and every time. She would always turn to us and live vicariously through our intelligence. She said we would make something of ourselves one day and that it was just too late for her.

Her death occurred when I was in my late teens, Mycroft in his twenties. I had no reason to believe her car crash was suicidal, but the thought always lingered. Love destroyed her time and time again. There was very little left of her by that point in time.

After her death Mycroft tried to use his network to find our father. Our mother hadn't talked much about him much so we didn't really know who he was. We, of course, could pick up on the details and put the puzzle pieces together. We knew he was Welsh. We knew he gave us the DNA that caused our minds to function in the way they did. We knew he was involved in a secret government project, if he was not lying to our mother. We knew he had left us soon after I was born. The reason he gave our mother escaped us. She never wanted to speak about it. We knew he left her heart broken.

I had no reason to want to find him. I simply wanted to finish the funeral arrangements and move on with my life. I couldn't be trapped by the man that left us so long ago. Mycroft cared though. He cared and he did eventually find him. It turned out the secret government job was not a lie and it was the reason he left our mother. That man wanted nothing to do with us though. He was sorry Mummy had died and he wished he could have been there but he couldn't return to that part of his life.

Mycroft, though we shared the same genes, did attach himself to people more than I did. We did not form the emotional bonds others did. Mycroft built his social and political network and if one person left his life, he couldn't care less. It was the same for us both only I had much less people to lose. In this case though, Mycroft did care. He cared and that feeling was shoved right back in his face.

It was then that we both lost everything. It was then that we realized none of it mattered. Caring and sentiment were not something we could be capable of. We had no one to care for left and we wouldn't attach ourselves to anyone again.

It was easy.

We never had really created those types of relationships before and anything resembling it was easy to break off. To an ordinary person it would have seemed heartless, cruel, even a little psychotic. Not to us though. To others it may have been seen as wrong, but we felt nothing by doing it.

Mycroft became better at deductions and observations after that. Whatever ties that were holding him back were cut lose and he became almost as good as I was. I was better. I had more practice.

And I was just better.

We never got along as children and we never got along as adults. Mycroft had always insisted on playing the part of the big brother while I wanted nothing from him. Even in my adult life he still wanted to play that role. I didn't need him. There was a reason I didn't seem him.

It seemed he had broken his rule about sentimentality when Lestrade walked through the door.

I had broken the rule long ago when I had met John. It was hard for me to calculate the reasoning behind my change of heart, until recently. John was different. He didn't push me away when I showed him what I could do. He did the opposite.

Of course I wanted him to stay.

Mycroft warned me all the same. Big brother speech and all that about caring and losing focus on cases. He even tried manipulating John into watching over me, scaring him. The fact that John didn't do it only proved my point that he was different.

Well, now Mycroft had to answer to me when I brought up Lestrade. It was obvious what was going on. Not only was Lestrade trying to impress him but Mycroft was reciprocating.

Lestrade was dressed for a date, whether consciously or subconsciously. Most likely subconsciously given his adamant defensiveness. Not only was he wearing the new shoes and not only did he bring the wine but he also showered just before he had come, slicked back his hair, bought Mycroft's favorite cheap brand, and had worn his good belt. The belt in itself suggested the precursor for a date. It automatically lead the onlookers eye down to his crotch. How much more suggestive could it get?

Then Mycroft came in wearing his usual yes, but probably only I could see the extra attention he put into it. He had just shined his shoes, not something he would have done in the current weather because of the mud. He had tucked a teal handkerchief into his suit pocket bringing in more color than he ordinarily would have. Then there was the fact that the umbrella he carried that day held his bigger sword. He only ever brought that when facing someone he either wanted to intimidate or impress. I doubted he planned on intimidating anyone. I already knew what the umbrella held, though no one else in the room probably did.

They were practically ogling at each other from across the room. I had to leave. The PDA was just uncomfortable. I didn't know how Mrs. Hudson could stand it. She probably didn't even realize.

That left me in the room alone with John. I would have welcomed the company if it wasn't for the fact that I was upset with him. I knew why he was taking his antidepressant but I had hoped he would have moved onto reality by now. He made a valid argument and I knew he would bring it up later but that did not remove the guilt that started floating around in my Mind Palace. Instead of facing it I shoved it aside by distracting John from being upset with me.

It was too easy and too fun to distract him now. Before I would send him on a random chase for my phone or a pen, but now I got to distract him with his own physical wants and lust.

John's oral fixation was something I jotted down and locked away in my mind. That would come in handy for a later day.

As I locked my lips around that piece of chocolate cake I could see his eyes already dilating. It was entertaining to watch them get darker and darker as I pulled away, keeping his eyes on mine. Just to add the cherry on top I moved at the last minute to bump a piece of frosting on my upper lip. His mouth just fell open when I let my tongue slowly slide it off my lip and into my mouth. It was definitely oral fixation.

The funniest part was when I mimed for him to close his mouth. I wanted to do an experiment later to see how many different shades of red he could turn. I would need a pocket size paint pallet. I was guessing he was _Imperial Red_.

No one else noticed.

When everyone was finally leaving, Mycroft looked at me and nodded. I knew that meant he wanted to talk. He wanted to talk without John knowing or he would have said something earlier. I glared at him but he didn't falter as he walked down the stairs. I wasn't going to get out of the meeting.

The sooner the better.

I watched as Lestrade ran after him down the stairs. They both had no clue of their intentions for the other. It would have to be something I would point out to Mycroft. Just when he annoyed me enough.

John wanted to talk and I knew it but if Mycroft wanted to talk he would be waiting. I could just ignore him, in fact I liked the idea, but the longer I kept him waiting, the longer he would stay talking to me. I thought it best to shove John off to bed as fast as possible.

One word answers did just like I thought they would. John was off to bed before I could finish my cigarette. Mycroft walked in just seconds after John went upstairs.

"Brother." Mycroft announced his entrance. As if I needed to be reminded.

"What?" I asked lowering my arm over my head and taking a drag from my cigarette by crooking my wrist at an awkward angle. Mycroft hated whenever I was anything but proper around him. It was just to annoy him. It was already working.

"What are you doing here Sherlock?"

I glared at him from under my arm as he walked towards my chair. I popped up and plopped myself down in it before he could reach it and he turned back to sit in John's. I took another long drag on my cigarette before answering him.

On the outside he looked calm, looking about he room and over me, but I knew he was just reeling inside. My being back was making him mad in a way that I didn't fully understand. I needed to.

"What? Didn't you miss me?" I mockingly asked.

"You know that's not why I ask."

"Well it can't be about my wellbeing. Nine months of no contact and you just now started to care?"

The only sort of contact we had was when I spent money using the multiple cards we set up. I never did talk to him when I was away. He never contacted me. I couldn't have cared less. We didn't talk normally, why would I have wanted to talk to him after what he did?

"I've always cared Sherlock."

"Careful. Or I might actually believe you."

_Not._

He glared at me and I glared at him, waiting for him to break. I wasn't going to play his game. If he wanted to say something, he would just have to say it.

"You can't be here Sherlock."

"And yet I am."

"I don't think you understand the repercussions of your actions."

"And you do?" He didn't answer me directly. Normally I could just read the person I was talking to and figure out what they were most likely to say next. Mycroft and I had had far too many conversations though. We were too good at reading each other and too good at hiding from each other. He wouldn't show me a thing. The politician. "I've made a deal."

"The deal doesn't matter."

_Knows I've made a deal and he doesn't care? _

_Lie. _

_Knows what the deal is?_

_No. I was extra precocious._

"This affects more than just you." Mycroft continued pointing his umbrella in my direction. That thing was always obnoxious.

_It affects more than just me. _

_Who?_

_He knows, the fall was meant for John. _

"If you're talking about John, he is aware."

"Not John, Sherlock. Me."

_What could he possibly have to do with it?_

"If you're implying the time it would take for you to watch over me, you needn't bother."

As if he would listen.

"No. There is more to the story that you don't understand. You don't see because of your anger with me."

He wasn't wrong about the anger. I could never forget a grudge if I didn't want to.

"Is there?"

"If you stay here, you will die." He raised his eyebrows in that way that said he knew something I didn't and he was just waiting for me to ask for it. I held out but I knew he would really not continue unless I did, in fact, ask.

"Do enlighten me." I wasn't trying to hide my annoyance.

"I gave your information to Moriarty in exchange for his. We saved many lives that way."

_Repeat._

"Yes blah, blah, blah. I know!"

"What you don't know, what you refuse to see, is that there was another deal made."

_Another? _

_Finally we're getting somewhere._

Mycroft continued in his business like manor, "Moriarty's plan was already in play. It was too late to stop it. To ensure your...downfall, shall we say? Moriarty contacted me. I knew of his plan to kill you before you did."

_Moriarty made Mycroft make me go along with his plan? _

_Mycroft had no part in the jump till after. What part did he play? _

_He knew of Moriarty's plan before I did and didn't say anything.  
_

_Need more data._

"Are you telling me this because of the terrible amount of guilt pressing down on you? Or are you simply gloating?"

"He said I had a choice. I could either ensure that you suffered or kill you myself because whatever he planned would be much worse than death. He is a smart man Sherlock. He knew you would not actually kill yourself. Not for such emotional attachments." The disdain of such an idea was evident in his tone.

_Mycroft was meant to make me suffer? Suffer how? By keeping me away?_

_I stayed away because I had to. Mycroft did nothing._

_I came back and only now was he trying to push me away._

_Mycroft's only part was to keep me away._

_Afraid Moriarty will do something. Will kill me. _

_He **is** a smart man..._

"Is?"

"Yes, we both know he is still alive." Condescending as always.

Two could play at that.

"And you know even more due to the deal you've made. And you're worried that now I've come back your deal is broken and he will make an attempt on my life? Well, let me absolve you of all worry and guilt. I have secured our position here at 221B."

He didn't need to worry about how. The deal I made would stay between Victor, Moran, Moriarty, and myself.

"Secure yours, or John's? How do you know they won't kill him?"

"Because I need to be alive to hold onto my end of the deal."

And nothing was going to happen to John while I was around.

_Nothing._

"Putting John above yourself?" Mycroft, in however way, had realized my deal did in fact put John's safety over my own. Perhaps it was the fact that I avoided saying how I knew they couldn't kill him. Perhaps I slipped a bit in my anger and it read in my body language. It didn't matter. I didn't like the implicating tone of his voice. "If I didn't know better, brother dear, I would say that sentiment does indeed have a hold on you. Need I remind you that caring for the man will not save him? Caring is not an advantage. I had hoped it wasn't true after you didn't come for him when he was in the hospital. It seemed I underestimated your attachment to him."

Whenever around my brother I always felt the strain from holding back my anger. If he kept up his taunting then I wouldn't be able to hold it back. He didn't have any right to talk about John like that.

"You're one to talk. Or are you free from the same attachments, _Myc_?"

I saw as his left eye twitched for a moment. Lesser people may have missed it, but I didn't. "I don't know what you're talking about."

_Lie. _

"Of course you don't. Now if you're quite finished..."

He got up, not needing the formal request, but turned back before he was through the door. "Does John know of the cocaine?"

It took much of my well trained self-control not to look towards the compartment under the couch where I hid the carton with the cocaine inside. No doubt Mycroft had deduced my cocaine use. He had seen me when I used it before. He knew the signs and symptoms. But he didn't need to know where it was hidden.

"Yes." I could have not answered him, but then he would have stayed.

"And is he helping?"

He had to of known already. He had been waiting for John to go up the stairs before entering. There was no doubt in my mind he either listened in on our conversation with his cameras or with his own ears. He had to of known that John was pushing me to come to him.

"Adamantly."

Mycroft nodded once before saying his goodbye. "Take care Sherlock. I hope you know what you're doing. I'll be in touch."

"Go away." I groaned out as I slipped back further into my chair. I didn't want to 'be in touch'.

He left and I was alone to spin over the new information. I knew Mycroft had stabbed me in the back in one way, but now there was another? Anger would always be associated with him. I was sure.

Mycroft had known Moriarty would try and kill me or at least stage my death. He knew and he didn't warn me out of his false sense that he was looking out for me. Even still he believed he could look out for me. He should have learned by now.

Regretfully, there was a point to some of his words.

Perhaps it would have been best if I left John alone, if I left him then and there. There would be no risk for him, other than another wave of betrayal.

Then again, as Mycroft had said, I was putting John before myself. I couldn't put him through that again. I had already made my decision to stick around and I was going to. This was the best option. I had no other.

I could have asked Mycroft for help in deducing what Connor Brine did to John. He would have the camera footage from the hospital. He would have all the files on the man and his workers. I just wasn't there yet. As if I didn't have enough to be mad about already.

I walked towards the bathroom and slammed the door a bit harder than necessary. It made the medicine cabinet door pop open. My eyes were dragged to the middle where John kept his bottle of Paxil. I picked it up and looked at its contents again.

It was only half empty. That meant I would have to watch as John took his pill every day for at least another two weeks. Then there was no telling if he would refill or if he would actually accept he was better.

He hated taking pills. And yet he would keep doing it just because he thought he had to. Because he wasn't sure what else he could do. Because of me.

I threw the pills across the room. The hit the corner and landed in a heap against the floor.

After I took a shower I did try to sleep. I had no reason not to try. I had no case, no experiment, there was nothing going on. I would surely die of boredom if I didn't' occupy my time with something. My body required it and I thought it would have been the opportune time.

My insomnia didn't run on my schedule though. I didn't have any plaguing thoughts, nothing of importance anyway, and yet I would stare out into the black of my room completely on edge. I thought about other ways to occupy my time and couldn't help but feel the twinge of guilt in those thoughts. Cocaine would in no means help me sleep but it would give me something to do.

John's words were still ringing in my ear. I didn't see why it would be necessary to go to him every single time I wanted to take a hit. That would occupy a vast majority of his time. I didn't want to bother him now. He was just sleeping probably.

So I waited and waited and waited it out. Trying to sleep, but failing. Trying not to think of cocaine, but failing. At first it was just a small itch under my skin that I knew I couldn't scratch. Knowing I couldn't, only made it worse. The itch spread and soon my entire body was tingling with the need for another hit. Just one small hit that wouldn't even last me that long. Just enough to get the itch out. With the itch came the twitches. Everything in me was prickling and I just wanted it all to stop. I needed it to stop. This wasn't going to go away on its own.

I groaned out load and ripped the covers off my bed. I crabbed a carton of fresh cigarettes and my lighter and stomped my way up the stairs to John's room.

He wanted to know, fine he could know. I'd just wake him up. If he thought he could stop this annoying thing happening to my body, then he could try. Good luck to him.

I probably would have felt guilty for waking him if it wasn't for the combination of the terrible sensations running through me and the fact that he reached for his gun as soon as I showed up. It wasn't as if I hadn't expected it. He was a military man through and through.

"Sherlock? What's wrong?"

_Does he really not know?_

He just looked at the clock. He asked me to come to him if I had symptoms not but a few hours ago. I wasn't dragging him out of bed so obviously it wasn't an emergency. I would have to put it up to his sleepy state of mind. I guessed I could forgive him for that.

"You said to come to you when I had symptoms. I'm doing that." I explained and he pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Grab a cigarette then." He said, as if I didn't already have one. I pulled the box and lighter from my hand in my pocket and quickly lit one up. Almost as soon as the addictive smoke entered my lungs I could feel the nicotine start to work its magic. The creeping feeling of bugs crawling under my skin started to recede with the more puffs I took.

"I'm smoking in your room." I wasn't supposed to be. If anything, I expected John to be yelling to go into the hall. His room was the one place I didn't go into without permission. That was unless there was an important case. It was the one place I didn't do my experiments. I did not expect him to handle my smoking indoors well, let alone in his room. I doubted he liked the scent of it. He hadn't complained about the house yet but he was John.

"Yes and you're not leaving till your craving goes away."

"Why?"

"You're an addict Sherlock. You have a stash somewhere in the apartment or you have a way of getting some. I don't want you alone when you're having a craving." I nodded and sat down on the bed facing the door. Did he know about the stash in the couch? Did he know about my contact? Surely he was just guessing. "Sherlock-"

"You'll be up for a while." I announced taking another drag. He really didn't know what he was getting into with this wanting to know about my cravings. This one was particularly nasty. "This feels like a four stick craving."

"You have them numbered? Stupid question." He was getting better at knowing which ones were stupid. Better but not good. "Well what do you-"

"We don't have to talk John." He had already entertained a lot of people. He should have known he didn't need to entertain me. Especially since I couldn't concentrate on anything with the damn twitches.

"If we don't talk, I'll fall asleep." And there he went thinking again. He really didn't need to stay awake. I was already feeling better just being in his room. I wouldn't try anything when he was watching. "You know, just because I'm questioning myself doesn't mean I question you. I mean, I'm still going to have to learn to trust you again but I don't question you."

He was still on about what I said in the kitchen. I knew I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't like the fact that he still questioned reality. In fact it did make me feel guilt. Guilt was such a needless emotion.

He seemed to be feeling it then. Why did he feel guilty that I felt guilty?

Emotions were such a stupid, illogical thing.

I knew he wouldn't trust me. I didn't expect him to. Though his actions did show he didn't distrust me completely. That was more than I could have asked for. Even with the deal with Victor that I wasn't telling him. I knew he wanted to know. He just couldn't. That was what he was worried about most, besides the drugs.

I took another drag from my cigarette, already nearing the end, before I answered. "I would tell you about the deal I made if I could. I'm afraid it is one of those things you will have to trust me on."

"I'll try. Can you tell me anything about it?"

I ran over the deal in my head and decided what was best. What I was allowed to say that would not get us both killed. "I can do cases brought forward by the Yard. Not brought by anyone else. People can know I'm alive but I need to watch myself. "

"What about the blog? Your website?" He asked and I could tell he wanted to ask more. He wasn't, and that meant he was trusting me.

"Allowed."

With one final drag I finished off the first cigarette and moved onto the next. I pushed myself backwards and used the headboard as a back rest. If John wanted to talk I knew he would want to ask other questions. It was probably better to talk about them sooner, when we had the time.

"There is something else you wanted to talk about." I said finally looking over at John. My mouth automatically started to pull up into a smirk at the sight of his tired face and his bedhead hair. He looked positively ruffled. This was going in the John room.

"Yeah?" He asked nervously. It only added to the look he had. I could finally feel the anger I had had since Mycroft had entered the room start to disappear. I couldn't be mad when John was looking at me like that.

"You want to know why." I said trying to help him out. He wasn't going to ask it seemed. "Why I kissed you. Why you kissed me back."

I had no doubt this was a troubling thought for John. While I hadn't any reason for a sexual identity crisis, never really caring to associate myself before, John had been very adamant in his own. While he came to grips with his emotions, and I mine, he hadn't enough time to explore his physical wants. My advances had to have only confused him at this time. He did not know how I felt or what I was thinking. This would only add to his confusion.

"I do." He sounded unsure but I continued on with my thought. He had to know how I felt in order to deal with how he felt. It was time to stuff away any sociopathic ideals and deal with John instead.

"I don't like to talk about these things but I know you won't let it go, so, I'll tell you." I had to shut off my mind and just let myself talk. "I care for you John. I realized that more when I was away. I planned to visit you, to make sure you were alright, and then leave. Go back to my cases. Then when I saw you, I couldn't. When I saw you in the flat I thought I could suppress these feelings, these emotions, but I couldn't. I had to see you and it was a bad decision on my part. You were doing fine and I could have continued my work. I let my emotions get the better of me." This was going easier than I thought. I just had to keep talking. I couldn't analyze yet. I took another puff from my cigarette to keep myself calm and spoke again. "Mycroft always said caring was a weakness. When I found you were hallucinating I was going to let you think I was one of them. I had said my hello and you didn't want me and I could live with that. At first. But then you kept saying I wasn't real. Then I found out how far your relationship went. I had…hope. And I couldn't leave after that. When you said you loved me," the words were foreign on my tongue, "something happened. I did kiss you to make you realize what was real but then I waited as long as I could and then I couldn't help myself. Human hormones and chemical reactions. I feel I care for you and I want to kiss you. I don't know if this is love like you feel. I haven't loved someone before. Love isn't…" I took a drag on my cigarette to keep from finishing that sentence. John didn't need to know that love wasn't something I felt. It wasn't something I had dealt with. "Your next question will be where does that put us? I don't know. I say we don't put a label on it. We just do what feels right. I don't want to lose you John."

"I don't want to lose you either Sherlock."

I jumped unexpectedly when I felt a warm rough hand run over my own. I looked down and saw John had his hand hovering on mine. I knew what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to open my hand and wrap it in his. I hadn't really held hands with someone though. Handshakes, yes. Handholding for cases, occasionally. I'd never had someone hold my hand because they wanted to with me before. Not the real me. John was always different though.

I opened my hand and grinned when his warm digits gripped mine. It wasn't an unwanted sensation. It was much better than the bug crawls.

"If you tell anyone I talked about my feelings I'm going to tell them you hallucinated it."

"Alright Sherlock." I giggled as he laughed at my semi-distasteful joke.

John soon fell asleep, just like he said he would. I had thought of shoving him off my shoulder, putting him back down in a proper position, and trying to sleep in my own bed, but I couldn't find the will to move him. He was snoring softly near my ear and his warmth was spreading through my side, making any blanket unnecessary.

I finished off my third cigarette, realizing I didn't need a forth, and enjoyed John's company listening to the sound of his breathing and watching his hand twitch in mine as he slept. It was quiet and peaceful and for once my brain wasn't attacking me continuously. It was new but it wasn't unwanted.

I drifted off at some point, resting my head against his.

When he woke up I was already awake. I had woken a few hours after I had initially fallen asleep and realized the fourth cigarette was calling me. I smoked it and sat thinking. I was thinking about John and Mycroft and about how I would ask Mycroft for his help without actually having to ask him. I thought going through Lestrade would probably be the best way.

After John woke up I remembered about throwing his pills against the wall. As much as I didn't want him to take them, I knew he would. He wouldn't be happy knowing where I decided to put them. I left him and picked them up while he was getting ready.

I never would have cared before.

What was happening to me?


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: **I updated later than I would have liked, first tests of the semester. It's long though, so yay!

I'm going to go ahead and warn for a murder scene but it is really not that bad. I doubt any triggers will be pulled but I warn anyway.

**John POV**

* * *

One thing about going to work was that I had hoped that I could finally sit down and just think. I hadn't had a moment to myself to think the entire time he had been back. I felt like I was always trying to catch up. Of course, that was really nothing new with him. But while his 'superior' mind could process it all instantaneously, I actually needed a moment or two.

I didn't seem I would get it.

Even work was full. Not a moment's time to myself. I saw patient after patient and did paperwork after paperwork.

At least my limp seemed to have fully disappeared. Even when I wasn't around him. I still brought the cane with me though. I didn't want to be without it again. Just in case.

It was almost at the exact instant that I got home when Sherlock grabbed me and pulled me back out the door again. I had only enough time to lean my cane behind the door before I was spun around.

"What's going on?!" I had to jog to keep up with him. He had already hailed a cab and was opening the door, scooting me in.

"We,- Scotland Yard-" He yelled to the cabbie. "Have a murder." He grinned at me. That excited, inappropriate grin that I hadn't seen in so very long. The one Sherlock had for doing cases. While I didn't have time to catch my breath, I did have time to give a quick smile.

I looked over at him along the ride and laughed to myself. He was reminiscent of a small puppy getting ready to be taken for a walk in the park. He was trying to hide his smile as he tapped his foot and looked out the window at the passing buildings. I just knew he was willing the cabbie to go faster with his mind. I looked out my own window, waiting for us to get there. I was starting to feel excited myself.

When we did stop I hopped out and paid the driver. I turned towards the doors of the building but couldn't see where Sherlock went. I turned as the cab pulled away and saw the back of his coat flowing about as he was walking away, headed across the street.

"I thought we were going inside!" I yelled out as I jogged to keep up with him, making sure I wouldn't get hit by the passing cars.

Or him while I was at it. Sherlock was probably too excited to look both ways.

"We're going to the crime scene!" He called back over his shoulder and I saw exactly where we were going. Right across the street. The Starbucks was closed off with police tape and I could see Greg waving from the outside. We nodded when we got close enough to him and he led us inside under the tape.

"Right across the street?" I asked Greg. I wouldn't think someone would try and murder someone so close, let alone directly across, from the police. It didn't seem like the smartest thing. Either that or they were really just so good they weren't worried. That would probably only be the case if they had help from a Consulting Criminal. Well it would give Sherlock a reason to be excited.

Or nervous.

Probably excited for him, nervous for me.

"Which is one reason why we want this closed quick." Greg said leading us behind the counter towards, what I could only guess was the closet, in the corner. On the way, lucky for us, Donovan and Anderson popped into view. Both looking at Sherlock. Both with open mouths.

"Holy shit." Anderson eloquently stated.

"He said it but I didn't believe him." Donovan was staring with a stupefied daze, looking between Sherlock, myself, and Greg who was already running a hand over his face. "The freak came back from the dead."

"I don't have the patience for the two of you." Sherlock spat at them, shaking his head, before spinning and speaking to the room. "I either need a cigarette or a dead body, now!" No one responded. I looked around and most looked like they were either trying to realize who he was or realize how he was. "Quickly!" He shouted and I heard Greg sigh as he finished walking us towards our destination.

Then Lestrade opened the closet door and Sherlock walked in. It was a very small closet, filled with shelves of coffee grinds and other such equipment, only big enough to fit a couple of people. The other officers and crew started to creep around the closet entrance, no doubt trying to get a second peek at Sherlock.

"I can't work with the idiots leering in at me." Sherlock grumbled without looking back from the body lying slumped in the corner. "I'm not a monkey doing tricks at the zoo."

"Don't you mean dolphin at the aquarium?" He looked back at me for that, just to throw me a scowl. I kept a straight face but broke it as soon as he turned away.

Lestrade yelled at everyone to back away. Most still crowded around so he pushed them all out and shut the door, closing us all in the closet. He stayed near the door and I pushed against one of the shelving units. Sherlock wasn't paying much attention. He was looking over the body, no doubt on his way to solving it.

I now took a proper look. It was the first body I had seen since...Sherlock's. At least this one wasn't going to come back to life. I was fairly certain.

That was bad of me to think. This poor young girl was someone's daughter and I was wishing she would stay dead just because I was bitter. Not that I wanted dead bodies to start coming back to life. The last thing we needed was a zombie invasion. Zombie apocalypse.

"Her name is Sarah Lenn." Greg interrupted my thoughts. Thank God. "She opened this morning. Her parents said she didn't come home after her shift. Boyfriend didn't know where she was. Closet was locked, key is missing. Her manager came with her copy and found her like this. Security tapes have been swiped."

She couldn't have been older than twenty five. She was wearing a Starbucks uniform with her long brown hair pulled up into a ponytail. There were no apparent wounds or marks that suggested how she died. I was still far away though, as far as I could be, giving Sherlock his space. From there I still would guess poison.

She could have been sleeping if it wasn't for the death vibe coming from her. That feeling of loss of life.

"Why are you here Sherlock?" I knew the proximity and timing was why Greg had called him but it wasn't like Sherlock to do a favor for what would probably be an open and shut case. It seemed like something the Yard could close themselves. "I mean I'm glad your helping but you wouldn't usually leave the apartment for this."

Sherlock didn't answer me. He was inspecting her over, using his pocket magnifying glass at some moments.

"Multiple deaths." Greg answered for him in a hushed tone. "Bodies started popping up all over the city over the past couple hours. All victims, that have been called in, had this Starbucks in common. All had their morning coffee here. This is the only body that was found here. It was the only one that attempted to be hid."

"So she killed a bunch of people then killed herself?" I asked the room.

"There's no motive that we've found so far. We didn't find the key on her. We're ruling it as a homicide. We find her killer, we find who killed the others."

"You don't know what killed them?"

"We only just linked them all. Toxicology reports have been inconclusive." Greg said with a bit of frustration.

"Inconclusive?" I couldn't blame him for being frustrated. If it was a priority case, like this was, usually they would have had some sort of an idea by now, hours later.

"Either the drug is actually untraceable or they have someone on the inside messing with the tests. I don't like to think that, but I need to be sure. It's why I called him." He nodded towards Sherlock. "I need to know what we're dealing with. I need to know what it is that killed her so we can warn the city. I don't want anyone else dying and I don't want city-wide panic for everyone who had a coffee this morning."

"Would you two shut up?!" Sherlock snapped while turned to the floor. Lestrade and I looked at each other with a shake of our head but stayed silent.

I looked back and Sherlock. He lifted both eyelids on the girl, re-shut them, and then he suddenly crouched down on the ground and started sniffing audibly. He then went back to her and lifted her head from the corner she was crouched in. Without warning he jumped up and twirled towards us. He nodded at me and I walked forward.

I found myself a little nervous. I hadn't been in a situation like this for a while. I hadn't exactly had the practice.

I crouched down and looked her over closer now, my thoughts landing on the obvious. I found myself looking back up at Sherlock, unsure. He nodded me on so I started to voice what I saw.

"An employee, obviously. About twenty five. No obvious wounds or strangulation marks."

"Good, go on." Sherlock nodded me on.

"Right." I swept my eyes over her again and continued. "She has scratch marks going down the front of her arms. Could be from the attacker. Possibly. If there was an attacker. From the looks of it she was poisoned. It would make sense if the other people who came here were dropping dead. Died a couple hours ago." I shrugged, unsure of what else to say. I could try and guess her life's story or why she was killed but I was fairly certain I would be wrong.

"Anything else?"

"Not right now." I was sure I _could_ find more but I would rather Sherlock just took over. "Why don't you run us through it?" I stood up and backed towards the door to give him room. Sherlock nodded at me, as if he read my mind, and started the show, bouncing around pointing, flailing, and explaining.

"She was poisoned. Most likely by a jealous co-worker. Jealous of what? Her boyfriend. The tan line around her neck from a necklace shows a heart pendant. Warn often. In most cases a woman only gets a heart necklace as a gift from a significant other. Only those who are desperate for attention or desperate for others to think they have someone would buy themselves a heart pendant necklace. This woman is too attractive to be that desperate. Therefore, boyfriend. Her murderer was jealous, ripping the necklace from her body. You can tell from the scratch marks from where the necklace broke off at the base of her neck and the scratch marks caused by her nail on the girl's skin here." Sherlock pointed to the small scratches on the girls chest. I had to squint to see them from where I was. I had missed that.

"The murderer didn't want her to have the necklace enough to take it from her dead body. Co-worker because they knew when our dead girl was working, they knew where the closet key was, they knew where the tapes were, and they knew where to find the things they would need to clean up after her. No, her body was not placed here, this is where she died. She was poisoned and threw up from the poison. You can smell the bleach that was used on the floor to clean up after it. The bleach and other cleaning supplies have been removed. You can see their places on the shelf there." He pointed to the one behind me and I turned to see what he was looking at. There was a bare spot on the shelves next to the other supplies. No bleach in sight.

"The dilated pupils also suggest poison. That and she was experiencing nausea and pain as suggested by the scratches on her forearms and how she was crumpled in the corner. No the scratches were from her own hands, not an attacker's. You can tell by the size and the dried blood stains found under her fingernails. Therefore, find the boyfriend, find the jealous co-worker and you'll find the murderer. In the meantime send over her samples and the milk samples to the lab and I'll determine the poison used."

"Brilliant." I stuttered out as he finished.

I would always be amazed at how much he saw. How much he knew. He really was a genius.

"The milk?" Greg asked, for the both of us.

"Well it obviously wasn't the coffee!" Sherlock said and I looked at Greg, who was also looking at me. Yup, we were both confused.

"Why?" Greg asked hesitantly.

"Really the fact that you even have to ask that..." Sherlock dramatically grunted out in frustration, bending his body forward but straightened up to explain to us simple minded folk. "Have you seen the modern day coffee menu? Even looking out there at today's you can see that half barely have the excuse to call themselves coffee drinks. What does every drink have? Sugar and Milk. More take milk than they would sugar and it would be easier to hide a large amount of poison in a liquid than it would in a powder. The murder didn't want to get caught. Amateur who left a body at the crime scene but still. They thought the poison would be blamed on the milk company. There was a new shipment for this morning. Or did you not even bother to at the blatantly obvious schedule posted behind the counter?"

"Schedule?" Lestrade asked. "Where-"

"Their flaw was locking the door and cleaning up after themselves. They gave this girl a specific dose. Different than the others. It was more volatile and they panicked."

"So that's why they killed all the other people?" I cut in. "To hope Sarah's death would be overlooked?" Didn't the murderer know that science could show who was meant to be killed? If she really did give her the extra dose, it would show up. I didn't believe Sherlock would be wrong about that. "Isn't that kind of dumb?"

"People are stupid John. The other deaths, what symptoms were there?"

"The bodies were the same, no signs of violence. Witnesses say for multiple that the victims were hal-..." Greg stopped and looked at me before clearing his throat. "They were hallucinating." Fantastic. Was everyone going to be this skittish? We were dealing with dead people, not me. Hallucination wasn't a bad word. "Then they had spasms, convulsions and died. The bodies and samples will be sent to St. Bart's too. You have any idea what it could be? We'll have our department working on it again."

"I have a few theories. I'll need to test them."

"Alright. I'll get people on it. Thanks Sherlock." Lestrade moved out of the closet and started ordering people around.

"So we going to the lab?" I asked as Sherlock moved towards the me and the door.

"After dinner."

"After what?" Was Sherlock actually suggesting food before he solved a crime? "Aren't you on a bit of a time crunch here?"

"It will take them at least a half hour before anything get's to Bart's. The other bodies have been tampered with. In the meanwhile, you worked through lunch and haven't eaten since breakfast."

"How'd you know I skipped lunch?"

"Angelo's?" He asked as if I hadn't spoken. I stared at him a moment before nodding my head stupidly. Angelo's actually sounded pretty good.

Sherlock opened the door and we walked back out. Only to be met with our two favorite people.

"Look who's coming out of the closet together. About time boys." Donavan sneered from the other side of the shop. Apparently she was over the sudden return of Sherlock Holmes, acting like her normal self. Anderson was sneering by her side as well.

Sherlock looked over at the two of them laughing and then back at me. I looked pretty pissed I was sure. It was the immaturity that was driving me insane, more so than the homosexual joke. I've had a lot of those over my time with Sherlock.

Then Sherlock winked at me and turned back to them. My stomach jumped. He was going to do something. I didn't know what.

"Donovan, Anderson." He greeted them with fake sincerity and a head nod each. "How pleasant to see you both. I see you're still sleeping together." Just pointing out the obvious. "Oh and Anderson…" Anderson looked over at him again. Already he looked pissed. "How is that blonde you're seeing on the side?"

With that Sherlock looked at me, jerked his head towards the door, and we jogged out of the shop just as Donovan started laying it in good.

"A _what_ on the side?!"

We both giggled on the street as we hailed a cab. The glass windows were not very good at keeping Sally's shouting at bay.

"We can't be giggling right now." I said trying not to burst out laughing.

"Yes we can. We're not behind the tape." Sherlock said as his shoulder's shook from his laugh. It was good to see him smile like that. Even if it was at the expense of others.

"Sherlock that doesn't-" A cab pulled up and we hopped in. We looked at each other's smiles for a moment before turning back towards the Starbucks. Anderson was holding both his hands up in surrender as Donovan was still screaming her head off. People all around the scene who still had to do their job were trying so hard not to pay attention and we could see Greg trying to yell over her. Probably telling her to calm down. Anderson's shocked and confused face was still the best.

"Look at him." I said between laughs. "He looks like a- like a-"

"Ferret?"

"Like a scared little ferret."

We looked at each other again and the giggles turned into a full on laugh. We ordered the cabbie to take us to Angelo's and spent the rest of the time trying to get out of the giggle loop we were stuck in. Silence didn't last very long and it was hard for me to catch my breath.

I really hadn't laughed like that since...I couldn't remember.

* * *

Angelo himself was very happy to see Sherlock. Very surprised, as was to be expected. Though he did say he knew Sherlock was too smart to be a fraud. He kept saying how he never believed what the news was saying. Sherlock didn't say it but I think he appreciated it. He was supposed to let the lie live on but I knew he never wanted it to.

When we sat down Angelo brought over a candle and told Sherlock that he could order anything, free of charge, for himself…and his date. I was reliving the first time we came here all over again. Well, actually, Angelo was like that any time we came to eat there but the candle was for special occasions.

I fought the urge to say I wasn't his date. I wasn't really even sure. I just figured I'd let it go and Sherlock could think what he wanted. I was just happy to be getting a free meal.

I ordered the lasagna, to come quickly, and Sherlock ordered nothing. All he really did was sip on his water. He just watched me eat. That was pretty normal. I didn't argue because of the case.

"I always knew Anderson was a dick but I never realized he was that much of a dick." I spoke around bites of food. Sherlock smiled at me over his glass.

"I might have failed to mention the blonde he was seeing was his mother's yellow lab."

I stopped midway to putting the bite I had on my fork into my mouth and smiled instead. "A dog?"

"No doubt he had just come from visiting her and the lab had rubbed against him. Details." He scoffed and I laughed. He started laughing too and it was just great. My face hurt.

"So do you know what poison was used to kill the girl?" I asked taking a sip from my drink.

"I have a theory. I'd rather check it out than the hacks at the Yard."

I smiled at him and saw him start to tap his foot. I knew what that meant. "Well let's go see if they sent it over." I said pushing up from the table to which he gleefully followed. He stayed longer than I expected. I actually managed to eat one third of my dinner. Better than the usual three bites. And we were still under the half hour before the samples would reach the lab.

We waved to Angelo who told us to come back anytime.

* * *

We had just reached St. Bart's in the taxi when I had yet another moment of panic. I thought I would always have a panic attack when I saw that building. Well I knew this time I wasn't going to see Sherlock fall, I wasn't going to the roof with a hallucination, and I wasn't going inside to get treated for alcohol poisoning. I was just going into the lab with Sherlock.

Everything would be fine.

I guessed I took a moment longer than I should have, just staring at the front of the building because I soon felt Sherlock's hand fall onto the lower part of my back.

"You can go home." He spoke quietly in my ear so the taxi driver wouldn't even hear. I nodded but then shook my head.

"No. I'm alright." I tried to reach out and open the door but my other hand started to shake in on my lap.

I took a deep breath in and out.

In and- Sherlock ran his hand in a small circle on its place on my back. To a passersby it wouldn't look like anything but to me it was all the comfort I needed. Which was odd seeing as who it was coming from.

The man who's death was causing me panic was also comforting me about it. It was verging on a bit not good for me. It was too reminiscent over how I went insane in the first place.

This was real. Sherlock was there being supportive. He asked if I wanted to go home. He wanted me to stay. He was being comforting.

Who was this man and what did he do with Sherlock?

Not that minded.

I opened the door, paid the driver, and moved towards the doors of the building. Another spurt of surprise came when Sherlock replaced his hand on my lower back for the entire walk, until we were inside and I could move on my own.

We came to the lab quickly and he walked in just as if he had never left, slamming the double doors open at the same time and striding through like royalty. I followed shaking my head, partially because he was a little embarrassing, and I didn't know what to expect on the other side.

I felt a little weird being in there. I didn't like to remember the last time I was. It wasn't exactly a pleasant memory.

As soon as we walked in all the way I could see Molly from across the room. She had jumped at the noise but the look of shock on her face tripled when she saw who it was. That shock quickly turned into a great big smile.

"Sherlock?!" She squeaked as she ran over to him. He couldn't stop her before she wrapped him up in an unexpected, giant bear hug. He couldn't move his arms to push her away because she had him from below the elbows. Not that he wasn't giving it a half effort. "Oh my god! Sherlock!" She was screaming into his chest. "You're back! Are you really back?!" She finally let him go and took a step back. "Hi John!" She yelled with a smile on her face and a quick wave. She was practically jumping up and down with excitement. "They Yard sent over samples but I didn't think you were coming. I mean I hoped but I wasn't sure. But, oh god! Are you really, really back?"

At least she wasn't gaping like most people's reactions had been.

Sherlock tried not to show any emotion as per usual but I could tell he was a little amused. Well, annoyed, but a little amused.

"Yes, I'm back." Sherlock said as he moved over to his usual microscope and sat down on his stool. "Where are those samples?"

"Here." Molly ran over with a bunch of labeled tubes and stuff that I wouldn't really understand. I mean, I knew chemistry as well as the next doctor but not like these two did.

He took the stuff and started making slides. Molly continued to stare at him with a big smile on her face and I moved over to her side. I knew Sherlock would yell at her soon if she didn't stop ogling him.

"Hey Molly. How are you?" She turned to me reluctantly for a moment, as if she forgot I was there, before turning back to the object of her smile.

"I'm good John. You?" I believed I got another small glance.

"Pretty good actually. Listen I wanted to –"

"John!" Sherlock interrupted my thank you. "Jacket." I rolled my eyes at Molly and she smiled.

I walked over the short distance to Sherlock and he was already looking into the microscope, focusing, looking at some slide he made. "What do you want?"

"Off." I sighed but grabbed the edges of his coat and his arms fell back. I felt slightly degraded but at the same time he would just whine if I didn't do it. I reached forward and undid his scarf as well. I brought both over to a different stool and draped them over it without so much as a thank you. Not that I expected one.

"Anyway Molly. I wanted to thank you for what you said in the hospital again. Sorry I didn't keep in touch."

"Oh no, that's alright." Molly smiled at me and I smiled back. I gave up on trying to talk to her and moved to sit across the room. Sherlock continued to work and Molly worked on her own stuff, keeping out of Sherlock's way.

I stared at Sherlock as he worked. It was amusing for a bit. He talked to himself out loud a couple of times, things I had no idea about, and his eyes were always darting all over the place. He was hopping from machine to machine to microscope and then to his phone. I still got bored after a bit and just rested my head on the desk.

Then I heard the double doors open and Molly and I both looked to see who it was. Sherlock probably glanced but I didn't see. A woman a bit older than Molly came walking in with a lab coat on and a clipboard in her hands. She was tall, fairly attractive. Long light brown hair half up with small square glasses framing her eyes. "Oh John!" Molly said touching my arm and grabbing my attention, walking me towards the other side of the room. "This is Tammy. Tammy this is John. Tammy is a new lab assistant."

"Hello Tammy." I greeted her with a smile to which she returned.

"Hello John. It's nice to meet you." She stretched out her hand and I took it. "Are you a friend of Molly's then?"

"Yeah." I smiled at Molly.

"He's Sherlock's flatmate." Molly said nodding towards the lab bench where Sherlock was typing away on his phone.

"Sherlock? As in Sherlock Holmes?" Tammy said looking over at the bench with a stunned expression. Who could blame her? Not all of us could keep from gaping. "I thought he was-"

"Dead?" I cut in. "Yeah that's a funny story."

Well not ha, ha funny.

"Well I'd love to hear about it sometime." Tammy said putting down her clipboard and leaning against the nearest counter. "Are you his assistant or something?"

"Assistant?" I asked incredulously. Even though that wasn't really a far off description. "No. I have my own job."

"Yeah. What's that?" She asked fixing her glasses.

"I'm a doctor at-"

"John!" Sherlock cut me off. "We're leaving."

"We're what?"

We had only just got there.

"Leaving. Let's go." He started heading towards me. "Molly that sample needs a LC-MS. The radioreceptor needs to finish. Text me when you get the results."

"But I don't have your current-" Molly stuttered out.

I thought she must have been disappointed he only just got there and was leaving already.

"Text John!" Sherlock grabbed me by the arm and we were both went through the double doors before I could ask what the hell was going on.

"Sherlock-" We were halfway down the hall. "Sherlock what's going on?" He turned me around abruptly and we went down a hall to the left. I had no idea where we were. I never really explored this part of the hospital. It wasn't towards the exit though. "Sherlock!"

Next thing I knew I was being shoved into a handicap single bathroom. Sherlock piled in after me and locked the door, pinning me against the back of it. Before I could even ask Sherlock was attacking my face with his lips. It was like the second kiss, the one we had in the living room all over again. His lips pounced on mine, first missing my mouth and then he found it, and I kind of just responded. I moved against him as best I could as his hands ran over my arms and up my neck grabbing me closer as he slipping his tongue into my mouth. Before I could do the same, the strong contact was gone and I was left panting against the wall as Sherlock looked me over.

"What-" Was all I got out before Sherlock cut me off.

"I want Tammy out of the lab when we get back."

"Wha-?" Tammy wasn't allowed in her own lab? What did she do? She didn't even talk to Sherlock. She only talked to me and Molly. She seemed nice and...oh god. "Is this because she was talking to me?"

"Oh please. Talking. She was practically undressing you. With her _glasses_ and _ankle bracelet_." He spat out the names of her accessories like a kid eating Brussels sprouts.

"What ankle- you know what? Not important. And Sherlock you don't have anything to worry about. She was just being nice."

"Nice women are your weakness John."

Was that supposed to be an insult? It felt like one.

"I'm not going to go on a date with her."

"So it did cross your mind?"

"No actually. And..." I pushed up off the door and stood up straight. There wasn't any way Sherlock was leaving this room unless I said so. "Oh god, you are infuriating. I'm allowed to talk to women."

"Not her."

"Sherlock, how am I supposed to learn to trust you again if you can't even trust me?"

I always loved the moments were I used logic to beat him. He did not look happy in the slightest. "Fine." He ran a hand through his hair. "But I don't want her in the lab. I'll never be able to work with her gawking at you."

I was still mad that he was this possessive but my lips turned up into a half smile all the same. Alright maybe it was a little flattering. Ridiculous but flattering.

"Alright. But I'm not going to kick her out." Not that Sherlock wouldn't have an issue doing it.

Right then my phone beeped and I picked it up to see Molly had texted. "Tests are done." I said to Sherlock who nodded and moved towards the door. He left without worry but I peeked out after he did. I thought it would be weird if two men came out of the same bathroom together. It looked suspicious. As did my tousled hair and clothes.

"That was fast." I said jogging to keep up with his pace. "What does LC-MS stand for again?" I asked reading off my phone.

"Liquid chromatography–mass spectrometry." He answered back. As if those were real words.

"Oh." I said. Okay, I knew what they were. It just took me a moment. As a doctor, the labs worked with this stuff. I diagnosed. Or in the army case, I patched up. There were no time for tests.

When we came back into the lab Molly was there and Tammy was by her side. They both smiled but I could tell Molly was smiling at Sherlock and Tammy was smiling at me. That got me worried. I didn't know what Sherlock was going to do.

He didn't say anything. He just picked up a sheet of something Molly had and moved over to a computer. I stayed by the table near the door waiting for Sherlock to happen.

Tammy made her way over to me and my stomach clenched. I looked over to Sherlock but he still had his eyes on the screen. That meant nothing.

"So John, you were saying something about being a doctor?" Tammy asked, now obviously flirting.

"Tammy," Sherlock started and I jumped up to stop him.

"Sherlock. Don't."

"Do you really think it's wise to be seeking a date so soon after the divorce?" He didn't even look up from the screen. "Third if I'm not mistaken."

"Excuse me?" Tammy asked a little stunned and very offended.

"Sherlock, shut up right now." I put up my hand to him and turned back to Tammy. "Don't pay any attention to him."

"But how-"

"And definitely don't ask how." I turned back to Sherlock. "Sherlock apologize to-"

"Aha!" Sherlock shouted from his computer and his face lit up with a smile. "Atropa belladonna!" He scooped up his jacket and scarf and started running towards me and the door.

"Atropa- what?" I asked as he grabbed my arm and spun me towards the door. I looked back over my shoulder shouting, "Bye Molly. Nice to meet you Tammy!" Sherlock squeezed my arm when I said her name and pulled me the rest of the way through the door before either could say bye themselves.

He walked at a fast pace, throwing on his jacket and scarf, and pulling out his phone. I skipped to keep up with him as he typed away on his phone and walked through the halls, not needing to look up to see where he was going as he explained. A few people had to jump away to keep out of his path.

"Atropa belladonna. A plant. Also known as deadly nightshade, or beautiful lady. Called so because Italian women applied the berry juice to their eyes to dilate their pupils and make themselves more appealing. Used in modern medicine and as a recreational drug. Highly toxic. Most deaths are caused by children picking berries in their backyard. Side effects include; dry mouth, enlarged pupils, blurred vision, etcetera, etcetera, hallucinations, convulsions, coma, and, of course, death. Takes hours, depending on the person who consumed it. Our murder used a concentrated amount to kill the Starbucks girl and the others. More was prevalent in the girl than in the others that died. She was most definitely the target."

"So are we going to see Lestrade then?" I asked running through the murder scene in my head. Everything seemed to fit with what he said.

"Just texted." Again he popped his phone out of his pocket and read what was on the screen. We walked out of the hospital and Sherlock hailed a cab. When we were inside the cab he directed the cabbie to take us back to the Yard and he turned back to me. "He called in the co-workers. They all have alibis."

I nodded at him and looked back out the window waiting for the cab to take us there so Sherlock could figure it out.

* * *

When we reached the Yard I paid the cabbie, as per usual, and ran after Sherlock. We walked in together and he led the way up to Lestrade's office.

As soon as we reached the floor I could hear as everyone in their cubical turned to look at the door. Silence spread across the floor and the only sound came from our feet as Sherlock and I walked towards the office. Sherlock, of course, glared around the room but didn't say anything. I hung back and looked at Sherlock's back. I didn't feel comfortable with all the eyes on me. They weren't really on me, they were on Sherlock, but it still felt that way.

As we came close to the office I could see Donovan glaring daggers at Sherlock. No doubt she was still very mad about the fight Sherlock made her have with Anderson. Surprisingly she didn't say anything. She just looked back at her desk and glared at her computer.

As soon as we entered Lestrade's office he was walking us back out and talking to us as he lead us back to the elevator. "Now tell me about this belladoma thing again." Everyone stopped to look at us again but we all ignored it.

"Atropa belladonna. Toxic if ingested. Most likely ingested through her daily coffee."

"Daily coffee?" I asked from beside him in the elevator.

"Works at a Starbucks, stains on the teeth. She wouldn't expect to get sick off her coffee. Her dose was more concentrated than the milk." Sherlock said as if it was obvious. In this case it might actually have been.

"Alright but you said it was a worker." Lestrade said from his other side. "All the workers have alibis."

"Well then one of them is lying." Sherlock said, clearly annoyed now.

We went down in the elevator to the floor where the co-workers were. They had all been sitting around the interrogation room and stood when they saw us entering. There were four young people, three girls and a boy, all in their twenties, and one older woman, in her forties. We were all kind of packed in there.

It seemed they all recognized Lestrade because one of the younger women piped up as soon as she saw him.

"Can we go?"

"Almost. Sherlock here is just going to ask you a couple of questions. Sherlock." Lestrade stepped aside to give him a full view. His eyes looked them up and down a few times across the board.

"Ever been to Fire?" He asked popping he head to the side as he looked at the boy. It was obvious he was acting, playing at something. Only to Lestrade and myself though.

"To what?" The boy asked looking around the room uncomfortably, as if he was being blamed. For all I knew he was.

"In Vauxhall. Heard it was fun. Wondered if you've been?" Sherlock continued to ask with his fake smile. I tried to hide how confused I was but everyone else looked just like me.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what that is. No I haven't been."

"Shame." Sherlock said back to his normal clipped tone. "It's her." Sherlock said pointing towards the young girl to the left of him. Her jaw dropped in shock as she looked around the room scared. Everyone turned to look at her.

"Chrissy?" The girl to her right asked incredulously. Chrissy looked towards her and shook her head.

"How do you know?" Lestrade asked walking to Sherlock's side.

"Initials."

"What?"

"Like I said earlier, the girl was killed due to a romantic dispute. The murder was premeditated but they chose _today_ to act. Getting the belladonna would not take that long. There was a certain reason why today was the day. Perhaps an anniversary." Sherlock looked down at Chrissy who seemed to be trying to sneak away as far as she could inside herself. "It wasn't these two." Sherlock nodded towards the other two young girls. "They're both in relationships. Happy ones at that. She," Sherlock pointed to the one on the end, "has a tennis bracelet. Due to her age, where she works, and the clothes she's wearing, it had to have been a gift. That means a long term relationship, still ongoing. She," Sherlock pointed to the other, "has a very ill-disguised hickey, poorly covered on the base of her neck." The girl's hand automatically flung up to cover it. "Probably from a new boyfriend or fling.

"The murderer was obsessed. They wouldn't go after a new person while they were obsessing. She," Sherlock pointed towards the older woman, "while single would not be chasing after men half her age. I think we all hope not. If she were a cougar she would have been reactive to this boy. The boy," Sherlock pointed over at him, "couldn't have done it either. Not only has he been staring at this one's chest," he pointed to the girl with the hickey, "suggesting he is the one who gave that to her. He is not gay. Fire is a popular gay club. He would have heard of it at least. That leaves her." Sherlock pointed back at Chrissy who was obviously beginning to get terrified.

"No signs of a relationship of any sort. There are scratches on her nose from a pair of glasses. The scratches correlate to where a gas mask would run into a pair of glasses. Then there is her phone. She had it on as we walked in. I caught a heart symbol in the reflection from the back window. While confronting the boy about Flame I saw her calendar open to today's date. In the description banner, a heart with a pair of initials, CR and TM. Why would a single girl have an anniversary date on her phone? There was no recent break up. No this was an obsessive act. She couldn't let him go. She couldn't let TM be replaced my little miss SL. Isn't that right? So you killed her. You thought no one would know it was you. You took the tapes. Others would die. She would just be one of the others. He wouldn't know. You could be his shoulder to cry on. Then you saw what you did. You panicked. So you locked her away. Cleaned up your mess. Isn't that right?"

We all stared at the girl as she stood petrified. Her mouth opened but no words were coming out. She looked around again and seemed to realize she was trapped as she finally spoke. "He loved me. She tricked him. He was mine." She growled out. Every one of her fellow workers gasped out loud. "That's right." She said to the room. "I visited Sarah at work and poured her coffee for her. I made it special. I don't think she realized the double shot of flavor I gave her that day was something she'd _really_ never tried before."

"Chrissy..." One of the girls breathed out.

"I watched the tape." Chrissy continued her confession. "She was hallucinating bugs crawling inside her body, under her skin." Chrissy said it as if it made her glad. It probably did. The psycho. "She kept calling out for him. As if he would come."

"Grab her purse. You'll no doubt find the key to the closet in there. Along with the locket." Sherlock said turning back towards the door.

"That was mine!" She shouted as Lestrade came forward and held her back. She struggled against him as he brought her arms around her back and pulled out his cuffs. "He never should have given it to her! They said I could take it." Sherlock paused at the door. "They said it would be okay." She was hysterically crying. I couldn't understand what she meant and I looked at Sherlock. He wasn't looking back at her but I could tell he was thinking.

"Come along John." He called as he made his exit. It must not have been that important.

I knew that was a lie.

I followed him out into the street as he looked for a cab. "Well that was quite the evening." I said and Sherlock smiled over his shoulder at me. "They?" I asked referring to what just happened. I wondered if he would want to explain. I had a theory, and I didn't like it.

"Hmm?" He asked, practically ignoring me.

"The girl. She said _they_ let her take the locket. Who are they?"

"The girl is psychotic. Talking nonsense."

"Sherlock." He ignored me. "Are _they_ who I think _they_ are?" He ignored me again.

Great. Moriarty and Moran. I did have a reason to worry.

Well if he wasn't going to admit it, his silence doing that for him, then I wasn't going to talk about it. No point in trying to argue with Sherlock. I had enough to be mad at him about and I was still trying to not be mad for what he did earlier at the lab. I changed the subject instead. "I can't believe that girl did that. She was so young."

"Age doesn't matter."

"All over a bloke?"

"I believe the phrase is," He looked over at me with a smirk, "love makes people do crazy things."

Why did he have to look at me when he said that?

An involuntary smiled crept up my face and I couldn't seem to put it away. I shouldn't have smiled at that. We were talking about a murdered woman, killed because someone obsessively loved her boyfriend. Not Sherlock making some subtle suggestion about me. Although, love did make me do crazy things.

"That's not love." I said as our cab pulled up to the curb. "That's crazy."

* * *

We returned to the flat after that. There were a bunch of boxes scattered around the living room and kitchen. I gaped at them for a moment before realizing they must have had Sherlock's things from Mycroft. I must not have noticed them before Sherlock led me off to the case. I thought about asking to unload them but Sherlock was already off doing something else.

And I wanted to talk.

We needed to talk.

"Sherlock!" I called following him to his room. I stood in the doorway while he went off to his desk. His violin was on top. There were no boxes in this room to hide it. "Sherlock we need to talk."

"We don't need to. You're just going to insist upon it." He said as he picked it up and turned back towards me. I didn't move out of the door.

"So flatter me then."

"No." He said widening his eyes as he tried to shut the door on me. I stuck out my leg and stopped it before he could. He groaned and flipped himself around, readying his bow. I jumped forward and put an hand gently over the strings before he could reach them. He glared daggers at me for touching his violin but I kept my face hard.

"Something needs to change."

"Nothing needs to change."

"Yes it does."

"Why?" He flipped out from under me bringing his violin with him walking back over to his desk.

"Why? Sherlock." I sighed. "Because you say you don't know, and that's fine by the way." I wasn't trying to push him into anything. "You say you want to just go with the flow. That's fine. But if we're going with the flow, that doesn't mean I'm yours. That means quite the opposite actually."

"Just because I'm a tad possessive-"

"A tad?! You basically attacked me in the bathroom, a public bathroom, just because she looked at me!"

"She was doing more than just looking." He spat back, putting his violin down. "Molly was throwing her at you."

"Well you don't see me getting mad every time a girl or guy looks at you." Which was frequently. "Including Molly."

"Please. That is not the same thing." He looked like he was going to walk out the door but I walked in the same direction, blocking him. He pouted at me and glared. "They have no chance."

"Exactly. So how am I supposed to feel. How am I supposed to have a chance?"

"You're different."

"Right." I shook my head at him and ran a hand over my face. He said these things but it was frustrating. How was I supposed to believe it? He never did anything to prove what he was saying was true. Not in a good way. "Look, I know its only been a day but I don't know if I can do this, go with the flow stuff." I didn't expect him to want what I wanted. "I'm not going anywhere Sherlock. You know that."

"But you feel like I will."

"Well-" Yes, I did.

"Unless there is another meaning to our relationship?" He stepped forward again and I stepping in front of his path. I wasn't sure if he was going to run or not,but I wanted to make sure. "I thought we already crossed that boundary."

"Well you say you care and the things you've been doing lately are great. But what if that's not enough? I have needs too you know." I didn't want to be with someone who didn't want to be with me. What was the point in a relationship that was so one sided? I'd been in those before. I was probably guilty of it in the relationships I'd had since Sherlock came around. No one wanted to be stuck in a relationship like that. That's why they all left me.

"If you're referring to the physical needs of the human body, I am willing to progress in time to-"

"No, no." I really hadn't been thinking that. "I need to be with someone. I don't mind chasing after you when it comes to cases or experiments or whatever. But I can't be chasing after you with this. If you want to be with me, do it. All in."

"All in?" He turned away from me and looked back over at his desk. I wasn't sure what he was thinking. I couldn't see his face. He wasn't letting me see anything.

"Otherwise I'm going to have to think about some stuff."

He stopped with a hand on his desk. He refused to look at me.

"Do you know how long I've had this violin for?"

I paused a moment really trying to understand what he was doing. Was he changing the subject? Was he avoiding this? Was there a point?

"This is not the time to be talking about-"

"Do you know?"

My fists clenched. I tried to breath in deep to try and not pin him to the wall and make him talk to me. I had to remember this was Sherlock and it would never be easy.

"No."

"Since I was six. My mother picked it out after she realized my potential." My fists quickly unclenched and my body relaxed. I had never heard Sherlock talk about his family before, besides the fact that he and Mycroft didn't get along. I'd never heard about his mom. "She offered something for Mycroft but he chose some fancy sword or something stupid like that. My mother was well off. Very well off. This didn't put much of a dent in her savings. But it wasn't the money I appreciated. For once my mother chose to push my talent instead of hinder it. I thought she had accepted me." I started walking closer as his words sunk in. He was reaching out to his violin, his fingertips sliding against the smooth gloss of the wood. "She paid for a tutor and I learned to play. I hold great value in this violin. I always have. To say I love it may not even be a stretch. Though I wouldn't use that word. This is what happens to the things I care about. This may be the only thing." I was unsure if I should reach out to him or if he would push me away. This was a different side to him and I wanted him to know it was okay. That he was okay with me. "I am possessive. There is a reason no one is allowed to touch it. I don't like to share my things." My heart skipped a beat. Screw it. I reached out and placed a hand on his back. He didn't jump or pull away and I kept it there. "If you want me to go all in, as you say, then you have to understand that it means completely." He turned to me, my hand still on his back, wrapping around his body. His eyes found mine easily, locking mine in place. "You know how I am John. Better than most. It means completely and it means for a long time." His eyes faltered for a moment. "Even if you don't want me anymore."

Trying to scare me with commitment? He knew I wasn't affraid of that.

Though, he was laying it on a bit thick.

Why though? Even I knew he didn't mean it in the creepy, stalker way it sounded. Though Sherlock could be a bit obsessive, being an addict, and possessive, as seen today, I knew he wasn't actually the type. It would be far too boring. Could he...

Was Sherlock Holmes actually this insecure?

He had no reason to be.

I'd really never heard him talk like this before.

What was I angry about again?

"I can't imagine not wanting you." I said truthfully.

"I drive everyone away."

"Not everyone." I smiled and felt him tentatively put a hand around my back, opposite his.

"People will be driven from you, just for being around me."

"Like they weren't already?"

I didn't care to be around anyone who couldn't stand Sherlock. I understood those who didn't understand him, were annoyed with him, thought him a jerk. Sure. But those who discriminated against him just because he wasn't that social, was too smart for his own good. I didn't need those people. Neither did he. He had enough people calling him names and bullying him.

"I've never been with someone like this before." It was obvious that he was a bit uncomfortable. He reminded me of a teen with new found hormones. He might as well have been.

"Neither have I."

"You've had relationships."

Never like this. Never with a man on top of that.

"It is not as complicated as people make it out to be." I said wrapping my other hand around his back and pulling him from the desk. He was still a bit tense but at least he didn't push me away.

"Then why do all of yours end so badly?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"No." He said with a smirk. He knew full well he was the reason. He just liked it.

"I'm willing to be with you Sherlock. No matter what. Completely and committed. But I don't want to push you into anything."

His eyes still had mine locked as he paused to think. It was a little worrying but it was Sherlock. He was always thinking.

"I won't be easier to deal with."

I laughed. Sherlock being easy to deal with just because he was in a relationship? The thought was completely silly. If anything he would probably be the opposite.

"Never expected you to be."

"My habits won't change for you."

Was he trying to talk me out of it? He was being silly.

"Doubt you could if you tried."

"I won't put up with any domestic nagging."

"Yes you will." I said matter-of-factly as I pulled him even closer so he was properly wrapped up in my arms. I looked up at him and raised my brows at his frown. He looked about to argue so I continued. "I do every day." It wasn't like my nagging would change any. If you could call it nagging. He was the whiney one.

"No looming the relationship over my head."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He was still tense in my arms, not fully giving in to my sort-of hug. His hand was still on my back but it was tense, not like it had been earlier in the day. He was pausing to think another moment and I could see him contemplating how to say whatever he was thinking. "What?"

"I don't want to tell people." He said getting even more tense if possible. He probably thought I would explode at the thought of hiding.

I wouldn't.

I could understand others getting mad at their significant other wanting to hide them but it was different with Sherlock. He wasn't ashamed of me or of the fact that we were two men, he was scared.

I wouldn't dream of saying that out loud to him, but it was true.

I was perfectly fine with getting him used to what a relationship felt like before waiving it out in public. Even then I didn't exactly want to throw a coming out party. Sherlock had barely made it known he was alive. If the press got hold of that fact and the fact that all their rumors over our relationship were suddenly true...we would never be left alone. A part of me knew the only reason I was so worried about those rumors was because of whatever part of me saw truth in them. It really took me a long time to see what that was.

Then again, as long as we were both happy, who cared who knew?

We would just have to work it out as we went. I guessed that was kind of going with the flow. I could do it in this way though.

"I never planned on making an announcement. What's our business is ours."

"Physical relationships don't-"

"We'll take it one step at a time." I cut him off. I could already see how he was doing with my arms around him. We had a very long way to go before even I thought of _that_ kind of physicality. I was still trying to wrap my head around the kissing. I hadn't had a moment to do that still. Anything past that, I'd have to work up to myself. That was new territory for both of us really.

"I'm not good at expressing...feelings."

"I know." He could barely say the word feelings, I did not have high hopes. "You don't have to be. Just once and a while remind me I matter?"

"Alright."

Was that an alright to telling me I matter or to the entire thing?

"Alright?"

"I believe I just said-"

"I just want to make sure we're on the same page." That probably meant the entire thing. "We're together. In a relationship. Committed and exclusive. You Sherlock Holmes are my...what do we call ourselves?"

"Do we really have to label it?"

Fighting it till the end. How very Sherlock of him.

"Not really, but it sets my mind at ease."

Plus I kind of wanted it. It would be nice to know that Sherlock could acknowledge the relationship, even if it was just the two of us. Plus there was always the fun fact that I could tell a stranger I had someone. That was if anyone ever hit on me.

It's been known to happen.

"Partners is fine." Sherlock said. "We don't have to explain beyond that."

Sorry, I have a partner.

People would probably easily make the leap from partner to Sherlock but screw people. They can deal with it.

I didn't get hit on that much anyway. I was out too often with Sherlock to be able to go to the bars. Plus if anyone even tried with him around he would do what he did with Tammy.

We would have to work on that.

"Alright. You're my partner."

"Yes." As he agreed he finally started to relax .

I relaxed too. I had felt like I was gripping a rock ready to roll away any moment. This was much better.

"Alright." I smiled back up at him. He did still look uncomfortable but this was new for him. I'd try and not let it bug me.

"Are we done?"

"Yes." I unwrapped my arms from around his back and rested my hands on his sides. His hand slid off me but I wasn't letting him go yet. "And Sherlock?" I waited until he looked at me. "No one else has a chance but you."

"And so begins the sappy emotional boyfriend talk."

"Shut up." I laughed as I pulled him closer and reached up to grab his lips in mine. He kissed back but I made it a short one. I didn't need him thinking I'd gone fully sappy on him. I shot him a smile and as much as he was still trying to smirk, there was a smile pulling at his lips too.

That went better than I thought it would.

I walked back out into the living room and Sherlock followed with his violin. I pulled out my laptop and plopped down in my chair. I was tired but I needed to start writing the case before I forgot. I still wasn't completely clear if I could post this or not but I figured I could type it up in my journal document. Sherlock started off on his violin playing something new. I didn't recognize it. It was nice, nothing too melodramatic. Just a nice soothing melody.

It didn't take him long to notice what I was doing.

"Don't write it up!" He yelled from across my shoulder as he ripped the bow off the strings, making a terrible screech. I curled up from the yell and the noise, I hadn't expected that.

"Why not?" I held my hand over the top of the laptop ready to fight for its possession.

"It was so terribly simplistic." His hands waved the bow around making me have to duck out of the way more than once. "There was nothing interesting about it."

"Not to you maybe, but this was your first case back." He ignored me in favor of sprawling out over the sofa. "And I think it was interesting."

A crazy young girl killed a bunch of people with a plant called beautiful lady just to try and get her boyfriend back. That wasn't exactly an everyday murder.

"Of course you thought it was interesting." Sherlock arrogantly said as he flipped himself upside down on the sofa, letting his feet hang off the back, with his head near the floor. "What are you going to call it? Death by coffee?"

He started to put the violin into position between his neck and shoulder. I stared at him with my eyebrows furrowed trying to figure out how he was going to play from that angle. It couldn't have been comfortable.

"No actually. I was thinking something along the lines of _A Crazy Little Thing Called Love_." I actually didn't know what I was going to call this one yet, I was just trying to irk him with that title. Usually I waited to give it the final title at the end and I would only finish it after I checked up with Lestrade about the details. Sherlock was of course always right but I still liked to make sure I wasn't speculating in the story. Now that he said it though, I kind of liked _Death by Coffee_. It was catchy.

Sherlock hmphed at me before placing the bow on the strings and playing out a waltz melody. I looked at him for a few moments trying to figure out why he was doing that upside down but just shook my head at him and continued to type.

It was just one of the crazy things my partner did.

Partner.

I couldn't keep the smile off my face.

* * *

It was nearing time for me to go to bed and Sherlock was still upside down. He had put down the violin after a while but had decided to stare at me instead. I ignored him for the longest time but really it was just getting weird.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" I closed my laptop and stared down at him, crossing my arms over the top of it.

"For a short while after birth everything a newborn sees is inverted. It is believed if you stay upside down long enough the image will be inverted again."

"So you're trying to see everything upside down?"

"No. That would take far too long." He quickly twisted himself around and sat up on the couch lounging into the back of it. "Ah and there's the headrush."

"You were upside down for that long because you wanted a headrush?"

"Shh." He lazily put a finger over his lips. "You're ruining it."

I thought about saying something else but I really didn't know what to say. So I just closed my mouth, put my laptop down, and started for bed.

I might have slept for about an hour before Sherlock's weight sinking on my bed woke me up. I turned over to face him and he had a cigarette out. I smiled a bit because I was glad he was coming to me again but I frowned inside because I thought the case might have distracted him enough from his cravings. It was a short case though and he didn't smoke the entire time we were working on it. He didn't even smoke in Angelo's when we were waiting. I figured once he got into the good cases then maybe things would get better for him. For now though, I fumbled in the dark until I found his hand and I gripped it. I trusted he would wake me if he tried to move and I trusted he wouldn't try to. He squeezed my hand in his and I fell back asleep.

If only it would always be that simple. Never with Sherlock though.

Never with Sherlock.

* * *

**AN**: I added that bit at the end because I've been too easy on you with the cliffhangers. And to share the fun fact that you see upside-down when you're born.

Sherlock POV next. I know at least someone likes the John/Sherlock/John/Sherlock layout and it is going to continue. Too late to get out now :)

Just a reminder that I do welcome constructive criticism and that I love you and your reviews. They make my day.

Thank you and much love is sent your way!


	18. Chapter 18

**AN:** To those who are not new, I sectioned off this fic into Part 1 and Part 2. Part 2 being when Sherlock actually came back. I thought the section off was needed. There is an obvious difference in the first and second part. I hope you are okay with it. Just thought I'd let you know.

Due to a helpful review, I went back and made Sherlock's "forever" statement make a little more sense. It will be explained here too. Didn't think about how much of a_ I'll murder everyone you love_ type he'd come off as. Keep the reviews coming :)

You guys missed a mistake I made! Last chapter when Sherlock was in his room he flopped on his bed. Sherlock doesn't have bed to flop on. John sold it. [And now you're all like O_ooohhh yeah right.] _Don't worry, I fixed it. You don't have to go back and re-read (unless you want to), just know that Sherlock doesn't have a bed. He flops on . . . air. . . because he can!

* * *

**Sherlock POV**

* * *

How did ordinary people live with themselves? It had to be wonderful not to be like me. I could pound my head on the wall out of sheer boredom.

I had already bought myself new equipment. It wouldn't come till that weekend. Apparently screaming at the idiots for not being able to ship it faster didn't help. It was their own fault for getting into customer service. What a horrific job.

I couldn't go to the St. Bart's lab. Molly would most likely be there. I knew she wouldn't be practical enough to accept I was there without making a big deal about it. I'd needed someone there to occupy her attention or I wouldn't be able to get a thing done.

John was at work.

I couldn't do drugs on account of my promise.

I couldn't find or do case unless it was brought by the Yard.

I couldn't go off to the shooting range or experiment with medieval weaponry like I wanted to without Mycroft telling on me. He was continuously following me.

I couldn't do anything fun.

I needed something to do!

I ended up experimenting at the park. I was determining possible means of walking that would leave as little evidence of a trail as possible.

I had more than one person ask me if I was alright.

What were they doing out in the park in the middle of the day? Didn't they have jobs?

It probably wasn't every day they saw a grown man crawling on his hands and toes in the mud, holding a cigarette between his teeth.

Well they could just go ahead and piss off.

It only kept me occupied for so long though. I eventually went back home and found Mycroft had his workers deliver my things to the apartment. Boxes flooded everywhere. I peeked in a few and deduced what was inside. Nothing interesting. All stuff I would deal with later.

I flopped down in my chair and my eyes fell on the bookshelf. It was mostly empty, most of my books being in boxes. My books took up the shelves before. But something was different about the books John kept. Something was out of order.

I looked more closely and found they were new. The collection included everything he read while I was away, being bought in that time frame, and some old book that I knew he owned before.

I didn't know all of them. Of course, most books I read were scientific. I was capable and had read other literature but I wasn't prone to it. I couldn't exactly relate to the minds of the authors or characters.

Plus everything was just so damn predictable. If people had more common sense, they wouldn't be stuck in their slow ways. They wouldn't waste their days reading this soppy romantic rubbish.

After I cleaned myself up from the park, I could hear John's voice speaking in the PA system of the Palace.

_You need to eat._

_I'm fine. _ I replied back.

_When was the last time you ate? _ His voice chimed back at me. He was even annoying in my thoughts.

Truthfully I hadn't eaten since the dinner the night before. John wouldn't have considered it eating but my stomach did not have the capacity to hold more food. It had shrunk in my time away. It wasn't my fault all that could fit was a few bites of chicken and one deliciously vengeful bite of cake.

The smoking also had something to do with it. It was a hunger suppressant.

_No excuses._ John's voice rang out. I sighed and went to make myself some toast. I figured I could eat at least a slice if that would silence the John in my head.

Then I went back to John's books. I thumbed through the titles and sighed. _Waterland, The Bronze Horseman, Titania and Alexander, Gone with the Wind, The Notebook, The Fault in Our Stars..._

I read the backs to them. There was definitely a pattern of romance and war stories. Poor John. No wonder he was such a mess.

One_ Day, War Horse, Harry Potter and the blah blah blah, The Hunger Games, The Hobi-_

_The Hunger Games?_

I was fairly certain that was a teen book. I read the back and found my interest peaked. A dystopian society where humans fight to the death? Vaguely interesting.

It would pass the time.

Surprisingly, that stood true. It was much less of a teenage angst filled love-sick romance novel than expected. The mind of the girl was rather predictable but the murders were entertaining.

I was about half way through when I was rudely interrupted by a call on my phone. I ignored it. John would be home soon and he could answer it for me. I returned my attention to the book.

Then my phone pinged with the sound of a text.

I sighed as I flipped the page. Didn't Lestrade know not to bother me right now?

Another text.

And then another.

I yelled and the book was suddenly thrown across into John's chair. I flipped open my phone to see all texts were indeed from Lestrade.

**_Got a case if you're up to it. - Lestrade_**

**_Dead bodies popping up all over. All drank at the same Starbucks. - Lestrade_**

**_Tox reports coming back screwy. Somethings not right. I actually do need your help on this one. - Lestrade _**

_Finally._

It wasn't the most interesting case, I was sure with how much he was trying to talk me into going. But it was a case and it was finally something to do.

I was already solving it in my mind. Obviously some kind of poison with the tox screen and the fact that multiple people were dying. Couldn't be an accident if Lestrade was looking into it. There had to be something more. There had to be a dead body.

Oh I hadn't looked at a dead body in so long. I'd been working with the living for far too long.

John would want to come. That would be good for him too. He wouldn't be so worried about everything if things started to go back to the pattern they were before. He liked patterns. Military and all that.

Another text popped up on the screen.

**_So if you'll stop being an arse and get down here I'd really appreciate it. -Lestrade_**

**_Where? - SH_**

**_Starbucks across the street from work. - Lestrade_**

I jumped up to look at the clock. If John stuck to schedule, which he would, I had less than five minutes before he would return. I doubted he would realize I had looked at his books but I didn't need him knowing. I could make fun of him after I finished _The Hunger Games._

And I would NOT be telling him about that.

I pushed the books back into the order I had found them and ran with my new book into my room. I didn't really know where to put it, most of my things that would keep the book disguised were in boxes. I had no bed to hide it in. I would have to go with the obvious.

I hated that.

I made a mental note to create a better hiding spot in my room. Something embedded that couldn't be taken away or out.

I put the book in my sock drawer, making sure none of it was in immediate view.

Not that I expected John to look in my sock drawer.

Then again John knew I was on drugs. He would no doubt do check on me like Mycroft had. I would need to create that hiding spot quick.

When I walked back into the living room I could hear John making his way up the steps.

_Even steps. No cane. No limp._

_Slow pace. Tired._

I shoved on my coat and scarf and pulled out my phone to check that Lestrade hadn't bugged me again. As soon as John rested his cane against the back of the door and as soon as he was about to greet me, I had him hooked under the arm, pulling him back down. I ran forward and hailed a close by cab.

"What's going on?!" John yelled from behind me, already out of breath. We needed to get him back in shape.

I pushed him in the cab and scooted in after him.

"We, -Scotland Yard-" I directed the cabbie. "Have a murder." Granted, not the most exciting murder, but I still felt eager.

_Eager? Why? _

_Puzzle? Too easy. _

_Not logical._

_John is not logical._

_What about John?_

I was automatically brought up to my Mind Palace and was placed in the John room. I needed to find the answer.

A wave of memories flashed before me with it.

John saying "Amazing", "Wow", "Brilliant". The 'brilliant' echoed out on the PA in his voice, bouncing off the walls of his room.

John smiling at me as I solve the murder.

John double checking for his gun as we enter an alley.

John scolding me for giggling as he joins in.

_John won't be mad at you. John will be proud of you. John will be John._

I hated to admit it, but there were some rationality in those emotions.

I looked over at John to get a proper look at him. He was smiling as told by the crinkle near his eye and the actual smile in his reflection.

_Darkened eyes. Slumped slightly. Slow blinking. _

_Tired. _

_Lack of sleep? He seemed to sleep fine. _

_Work. Lots of it. _

_Subconsciously touches stomach._

_No crumbs on shirt._

_Hungry. _

_Worked through lunch. _

As soon as the cab pulled up to the Yard I could see the place in question. It looked like every other Starbucks, found on every corner. Minus the police tape and officers inside.

I jumped out and made my way over. Lestrade saw me coming and walked out to meet us. A few moments later John caught up to where I was.

"I thought we were going inside!" He yelled as he jogged to keep up.

"We're going to the crime scene!" I yelled back and pointed directly ahead. Really, John must have been tired not to have noticed straight away. Either that or he was really out of practice.

"Right across the street?" John asked Lestrade. Finally observing something useful.

Amateur murders, not killing out of a sudden fit of rage or violence, the ones with a plan, usually would not plan for the murder to happen across from the people who could put them in jail. They could have been experienced and only now slipped up, exciting. They could be stupid, predictable. Or they had help, intriguing.

Perhaps this was what Victor had meant.

If so, it wasn't nearly as fun as I expected. Not yet anyway. I still had no body in front of me to see.

Then I had two. Anderson and Donovan slack jawed and dumfounded. Just like I left them.

"Holy shit."

I rolled my eyes behind closed lids. I wanted a case, not this. No one wanted this. Anderson was a new brand of stupid.

"He said it but I didn't believe him. The freak came back from the dead."

Oh, good. She remembered my name.

I hoped to god they would never have children.

_Anderson, lipstick smudge on ear. _

_Donovan, lipstick color same._

_Still sleeping together. _

_So horribly obvious. _

They had to have split in the time I was gone. Anderson was still married. How they could stand to be with each other was beyond me. Well, if misery loved company, then-

_God I don't care!_

"I don't have the patience for the two of you." I turned my attention to the rest of the room. Most people were staring at me, I expected that. I didn't really care.

John would.

John didn't really like to be stared at. He was a blend in with the crowd type. He liked to be a part of a unit, not the main focus of attention. Military.

He was probably going mad. Best to get rid of the problem.

"I either need a cigarette or a dead body, now!" I screamed out. I hadn't really even been thinking about smoking right then but the mention of it made my fingers twitch. It sounded rather delicious. I would give in soon if they didn't all stop staring. "Quickly!"

Finally, Lestrade took John and I back towards the closet with the dead body behind it. The idiots at the Yard had already moved a mass amount of things in the area. The workers were continuing to move about the food and coffee machines and blenders. It was all a waste. If only they would wait for me, they wouldn't need to take everything. They were probably doing more damage than good.

_Coffee grounds, bag crumpled open three quarters, used, old. _

_Coffee machine, too obvious. _

_Sugar, half empty, used, old._

_Milk, opened, half empty, expiration date over a week from now. Used but newly received. _

_Menu, frappe, latte, blah, blah blah. Special, vanilla latte. Unimportant. _

_Food, wouldn't reach enough people. _

_No sign of work schedule. Word of mouth or email, email more likely. Someone who knew when she was working. _

_Paper on fridge. Calendar. Schedule. Milk shipment. New milk came in this morning. _

_Should I say something? Milk is going to Yard along with everything else, unnecessarily. No matter. Don't wish to talk to them. _

_Bring on the dead. _

Lestrade opened the closet door and my eyes scanned over the room resting on the dead girl in the corner.

_Coffee, coffee, coffee. Boring, boring, boring. _

_Mini fridge, more milk, unused, doesn't matter. _

_Shelves, dust, ring of dust..._

_Ring of dust with cleaning supplies. Cleaning supplies not there. Not in room. Not where idiots are taking things. They haven't been in here yet. Missing. _

_Girl. _

_Young. Mid twenties. _

_Name tag. Reads 'Sarah'. Worn. Worked for at least two years, maybe three. _

_Apron fairly new.  
_

_Muttering. _

_Who the hell is muttering?_

I could hear the people crowding around the door to peer in at me, _whispering_ and _breathing_. Apparently my outburst did not do the job. People really could be annoying.

"I can't work with those idiots leering in at me. I'm not a money doing tricks at the zoo." It was beginning to remind me of my days at University. Everyone loved to watch the freak dance.

Well not dance.

I didn't dance.

"Don't you mean dolphin at the aquarium?" John's voice reached my ears and I glared at him best I could from my place near the floor.

_Oh how clever you are John. _

With the smile he was trying to hide, he probably thought he was. He could never keep a straight face when he thought he was being clever.

He could have been eluding to what I told him about dolphins being smarter than most humans and still having to degrade themselves for the likes of people. It could have been a compliment. He could have been suggesting this was below my intellect level and people shouldn't leer in to see me working. Then again, John was much more direct with his compliments and appraisals. Much more simplistic and one-wordy.

I really shouldn't have told him about the dolphins.

_Back to the girl. _

_Apron has crumbs, sugar, flower, worn to work today. She worked multiple hours today. _

Lestrade started yelling at everyone to back away and I lost my thoughts again. This was why I worked alone.

Quiet finally came in the room and I continued my work.

_Shoes. Sneakers. Worn, long owned. No sediments. _

_Jeans. Skinny. Worn near heal, old. _

_Tee-shirt. Cheap. Small coffee stain, right shoulder. Drank coffee. How obvious. Tee-shirt, no jacket? Jacket must be packed by idiots. Not in room with her. _

_Dragged into room? No. Slumped in corner, no signs of being dragged. Hair teased up against wall, slid down wall. _

_Bracelet. Worn no more than a few months. Not homemade. Inexpensive. _

_No necklace. Tan line. Under magnifier, tan in shape of heart. Worn often, probably every day. Gift. Boyfriend or girlfriend. _

"Her name is Sarah Lenn. She opened this morning. Her parents said she didn't come home after her shift. Boyfriend didn't know where she was. Closet was locked, key is missing. Her manager came with her copy and found her like this. Security tapes have been swiped."

_Boyfriend. _

_Opened store. Morning coffee leads to multiple death in afternoon. Poison takes hours. _

_Gas, unlikely. Affect different amount. _

_Other; Ricin, many plants, polonium, hydrogen cyanide, mercuric chloride, etcetera. _

_Security tapes taken. Amateur who watched a movie, has common sense, or has help. Knows where tapes are, either works here or was told. _

Or figured it out but I wasn't giving someone who screwed up this royally that much credit.

"-here Sherlock?" _John said my name. _"I mean I'm glad your helping but you wouldn't usually leave the apartment for this."

_Lestrade can explain. _

_Scratches around tan line. Made by fingernail. Murderer swept necklace. Anger, jealously. Against boyfriend. Murdered over boyfriend. _

_What an unfortunate choice. _

"So she killed a bunch of people then killed herself?"

_John, stop talking. _

_And no. _

_Anything else stolen? No. Bracelet on arm, phone in pocket, wallet in other. _

_No signs of injection. Swallowed. _

_Teeth, stained, coffee often. At least once a day given working in Starbucks. Smell, horrific. Threw up, definitely. _

_No signs of it anywhere. Cleaning supplies missing!_

"-Toxicology reports have been-"

_Scratches down arm. Attacker? No other signs of violence. Holding her own arms across stomach. Magnifier, dried blood under fingernails. Expanse of hand matches scratch marks. Pain. Extreme amounts of pain and nausea. _

_Scar on right arm. Dog bite. Six years old. Unimportant. _

"-why I called him. I-"

_Shut up! You're making me look at unimportant things!_

"-city-wide panic -

_Unimportant._

-"everyone who had a coffee this morning."

_Unimportant_. _Unimportant_!

"Would you two shut up?!" I finally screamed out loud. As if they didn't already know what they were doing. I turned back to the body.

_Eyes, pupils dilated, bloodshot. _

_Slumped on wall, scratches on arm, got sick here._

_Floor smells of bleach. Supplies missing include bleach._

_Missing; bleach, key, locket._

_Locket impractical to take. Wanted by murder._

_Neck shows scratches. Not unhooked before taken off. Murderer didn't want necklace, wanted girl not to have it. _

Everything was simple so far. I decided to take a step back so I could log it all in my mind. It was also John's turn. I doubted he could find anything I missed but I liked to watch him try. I liked to help him notice something more than the blatantly obvious.

I liked to watch him get excited.

I had almost forgot the other two were in the cramped room after they finally were quiet. I'd of felt guilty if it was worth my time. They both knew how I was on a case. I nodded at John to come forward and I could see just how nervous he was.

He wasn't going to let Lestrade see, but I could. His eyes shifted about and his hands wrung into fists a couple of times. It had been almost a year since he had been on a case. According to his journal, he had no deaths that occurred while I was away. There was a man who fainted on the sidewalk but that was the worst of it. I imagined it would be nerve-wracking. I'd just have to ease him back into it.

I nodded for him to go on when he looked at me completely uncertain. He should have known I wasn't going to tease him for saying stupid things.

Maybe a little.

"An employee, obviously." I smiled at his use of the word. "About twenty five. No obvious wounds or strangulation marks."

_Yes John. Now look closer. _

"Good, go on." I said and nodded when he continued to look and not say anything.

"Right. She has scratch marks going down the front of her arms." _Yes. From what?_ "Could be from the attacker." _No._ "Possibly. If there was an attacker. From the looks of it she was poisoned. It would make sense if the other people who came here were dropping dead. Died a couple hours ago."

_And why is that important John?_

"Anything else?" I asked already knowing he wanted me to explain it all.

"Not right now." I nodded already eager to explain it all anyway. John would see and I would help him. "Why don't you run us through it?" I nodded again, jumping forward to explain all I had found.

I explained the poisoning. I explained how it was a co-worker. I explained how it was over her boyfriend. I explained the effects of the poison and the missing cleaning supplies. I explained everything.

Still not enough for them.

"Brilliant." John muttered. I should have been used to that look he was giving me by now. I hadn't seen it in a very, very long time but it was just a look. It shouldn't have caused any reaction within myself and yet I could feel the sudden kick of adrenaline and the phantom butterflies in my stomach.

It was sickening really.

If only I didn't like it so much.

He looked at me just like he used to. Maybe if we did more cases, he would forgive me faster. We would go back to what we used to be, faster.

The smile on my face fell as soon as Lestrade asked about why I wanted the milk sample. I had to explain that too. He really needed to look at his crime scene before he let me on. He should have learned that over the years of him asking me for help.

While I was at it, I decided to explain how the murderer messed up. Whoever they were, they panicked. Their plan was going fine until they saw what they did. Human reactions got in the way and they tried to hide how terrible their actions were. That was the flaw. Now we knew this girl was different. It would be too easy to find her killer.

Amateur who had never killed before. That left either stupid or with help.

Lestrade's text from earlier popped into my head.

_**Tox reports coming back screwy. Somethings not right. I actually do need your help on this one. - Lestrade** _

_Tampering with evidence. She had help._

Now I was the stupid one for not realizing that. The help she had was clearly not to help her actually murder the girl, it was a plan she was to follow. That sounded like a certain Consulting Criminal.

Victor was right.

This seemed utterly simplistic for them. What could they get from a girl who worked at a Starbucks? There had to be more to the story.

"So that's why they killed all the other people? To hope Sarah's death would be overlooked?" I saw how John was trying to wrap his head around what the amateur was thinking. "Isn't that kind of dumb?"

My smile returned as soon as he said that. Nothing made John more attractive than when he showed signs of extreme common sense. I could have kissed him.

_Stop that. You have a murder to solve. He is not to be a distraction. _

"People are stupid John." I answered, wiping the smile off my face. "The other deaths, what symptoms were there?"

"The bodies were the same, no signs of violence. Witnesses say for multiple that the victims were hal-...They were hallucinating."

_Pause in word, clearing of throat, subtle glance at John. Was he really going to be tentative about bringing up other people's hallucinations? That was the last thing John needed. In fact, Lestrade wasn't even supposed to know. What an imbecile. _

"Then they had spasms, convulsions and died. The bodies and samples will be sent to St. Bart's too. You have any idea what it could be? We'll have our department working on it again."

_Injected poison. Lasts hours. Enlarged pupils, pain, nausea, throw up. Symptoms include hallucinations, spasms, convulsions, death. _

___Ricin, polonium, hydrogen cyanide, mercuric chloride, ____many plants, ____etcetera. _

___Plants more available. Easier for amateur. _

"I have a few theories. I 'll need to test them."

"Alright. I'll get people on it. Thanks Sherlock." Lestrade left and shut the closet door behind him, giving the orders to his staff.

I looked to John again who subconsciously touched his stomach. I probably should have swiped a pastry for him. The Yard probably got all of that by now. Not that they needed to.

"So we going to the lab?"

"After dinner." I didn't need him passing out on me from lack of food. I couldn't exactly give him a cigarette to wait it out. Vending machine food would make too much noise. He wouldn't like it if I made him eat the cheap snacks out in the hall.

Again.

Plus I would have to be left alone with Molly. I wasn't ready to face that tornado of imminent emotion and physical contact.

"After what? Aren't you on a bit of a time crunch here?"

"It will take them at least a half hour before anything get's to Bart's. The other bodies have been tampered with. In the meanwhile, you worked through lunch and haven't eaten since breakfast."

Yes, the time waiting for him to eat would be annoying but I would only be waiting if not.

"How'd you know I skipped lunch?"

I smirked as he touched his stomach again. Hunger pains was not a thing Dr. John Watson could hide from me.

"Angelo's?" I smirked again at the undeniable tug at his lips. He nodded at me and I walked us out back into the shop. Full of idiots.

Really I needed a new word for them, but idiot just fit so well.

"Look who's coming out of the closet together. About time boys." Donovan decided to chime in her opinion.

_Oh how original._

This was not the time for such jokes. Normally I wouldn't pay it any mind. I'd had my fair share of homophobic jokes thrown my way, simply because I wasn't interested in anyone. But she didn't know how impeccable her timing really was.

I couldn't care less that I felt for a man. I cared that I was actually feeling, just not that it was a man doing it to me. But the realization only just came about for John and myself. I had already dealt with this fact, logging everything away and expressing what I was thinking to John, but John was John. He still hadn't processed it. I would have realized if he had. He was still on edge with me.

He was probably contemplating if they had actually figured it out or not.

John had, with no doubt, had his fair share of homophobic jokes, having a lesbian sister. Many of them were probably directed towards him. He would have gotten in many fights over it. No doubt he would still be mad, even now when he was not in his teenage, hormone driven stage.

I looked back and sure enough he was mad. He was tired, he was hungry, and it was meant to be an insult. To both of us.

John would be more mad over the insult having to do with me rather than with himself.

In fact, he was probably mad at the teenage-like action of the joke. John only liked immaturity when it was all in good fun.

Well I could give him that.

I winked to give him fair warning and turned back to the two ... idiots.

_Still the perfect word. _

"Donovan, Anderson." I nodded at each of them looking them over. I needed something I could use.

_Still sleeping together. _

_Donovan, new earrings. Probably from Anderson, relationship has grown. _

_Anderson, overalls half off, jacket underneath. Old jacket, worn for work. Seen it before. Nicer clothes than normal. Date or important meeting. Blond hairs on jacket. Dog hairs. _

_Picture on Anderson's desk of elderly woman with yellow lab. _

_Visited mother, lab hair. _

_I can use this. _

"How pleasant to see you both. I see you're still sleeping together." _Best to remind them of relationship. _"Oh and Anderson..." I waited until his oafish stare met mine so he could see how deadly serious I was. "How is that blonde you're seeing on the side?"

That would be enough.

I nodded back at John and we quickly stepped through the door before we could be stopped. Donovan was probably wondering how I got that and it would ruin the fun if I explained.

"A _what _on the side?!"

_Yes, that worked quite nicely. _

We both started laughing as Donovan's screams continued and I hailed down a cab.

"We can't be giggling right now." John said, trying to contain himself. He was failing pretty badly.

"Yes we can." I laughed out myself. That really was too much fun. "We're not behind the tape."

"Sherlock that doesn't-" John started but stopped when his laughter became too much. We pushed inside and looked back at the comical scene happening behind the glass.

"Look at him. He looks like a- like a-" John was laughing so hard his face was turning red, only making me laugh harder. If only I had that color palette.

"Ferret?" I finished for him. I had called Anderson that before. It seemed to fit him.

"Like a scared little ferret." I looked a John and he snorted out another laugh before we were both lost in it. We only just managed to tell the cab driver where to go. No doubt he questioned pulling over to pick us up. It was of no matter.

* * *

Frankly, my sides hurt by the time we reached the restaurant. I hadn't had a real laugh like that since I was last happy with John.

Fake laughs to keep up the appearance on a case, sure.

Cynical, drug induced laughs, sure.

Not the same as a John laugh though.

Angelo himself managed to control his reaction of my being alive better than most. He sat us down and handed us our menus letting me know that he was glad to see me, and that he didn't think I was a fraud like the 'TV news lady' said. I nodded at him and gave him a smile leftover from the fit John and I had in the cab. He was the first one besides John to say that to me.

When Angelo brought the candle over to our table, he said anything was free of charge for me and my date. The word date made me glance over at John, hopefully unnoticed. I didn't want him to think I expected him to do or say something. I just wanted to know what he was thinking. We hadn't exactly established if things of this nature were considered dates. I expected John to deny it like he always did.

Then he did the unexpected and picked up his menu with a smile as if Angelo was talking about the special. That man always found a way to surprise me.

So a date then.

Probably not what John had in mind for a first date. I didn't know if he even thought about that. He didn't write about wanting something like that in his journal. He went on dates with women but I was a man, he wouldn't want to be too public. There was no need for him to face the imprudent jokes like the one Donovan made. For all I knew, John actually didn't hear Angelo at all.

If he did, maybe he thought I didn't think it was a date. Perhaps he thought I wasn't interested even after I told him I was the night before.

Maybe I was thinking too much about it.

John got his food and we talked for a bit. I explained my reasoning for my statement about the blonde and felt relieved when John started to laugh again. I enjoyed it when I made him laugh. It was much better than scolding me.

"So do you know what poison was used to kill the girl?" John asked, bringing my attention back to the case. I hadn't exactly strayed far. I was figuring gout in my mind how a person who worked at Starbucks would acquire a toxin, how long it would take, and how they would make the Sarah girl ingest it.

"I have a theory." Actually, many. "I'd rather check it out than the hacks at the Yard." They hacks who worked for Moriarty and Moran.

"Well let's go see if they sent it over." As John stood I did and we waved quick to Angelo. John only finished a third of his lasagna. He would be hungry later but at least he would stop having the pains that made him distractingly touch his stomach.

* * *

I should have seen it coming. I was so mad at myself for not. I must have been too distracted by the prospect of lab equipment.

John had not had a good experience with St. Bart's since long, long ago. The last time he was there was to get treated for alcohol poisoning and a concussion. Before that it was laced with hallucinations and my death. It had to be traumatic for him and I just let him come with me. The last thing I needed was for him to have another panic attack or any reason to continue taking his antidepressants.

For all I knew he could have been hallucinating again. The hospital would be enough of a trigger and he was in soldier mode. I didn't like it when he went into that mode. Usually it meant he was angry, usually with me, and I could understand to a certain extent and fix the problem, or ignore it till he was fine again.

Right then he wasn't angry.

No this wasn't anger. This was the soldier in him that stuffed down all emotions because they were too much to handle. The side of him that would cast everything aside, all the fear and nerves of the battle surrounding him, all the death and destruction, so he could focus on his work and patching up the people he could. This was the side that took John away and replaced it with an emotionless shell.

I couldn't read him. I didn't know what he was thinking.

Only one of us was supposed to act like this.

I didn't know how to pull him out of it. I knew he wouldn't respond to my voice so I thought of physical touch.

My hand led itself to his lower back. It seemed like just as adequate a place as any.

"You can go home." I said quietly, knowing he wouldn't want the cabbie, currently looking at us to get out, wanting to know he was having a moment of panic. I could figure out how to deal with Molly on my own. I had a case to distract me from her constant talking.

He nodded vacantly then suddenly shook his head.

"No. I'm alright."

_Forever the soldier. _

I thought about telling him he wasn't, but he obviously knew that himself. I could see the tremor start in his hand as he reached for the door. I almost reached out to grab his hand but he would know that I noticed it and he would be even more self conscious. He wanted to be brave, fine.

I had read before about how mammals would make small circles to sooth their young. Cats and dogs would lick their litters. Human mothers would rub the back of their child. I figured the same principal applied. Other people did such things.

It worked and John pushed himself out the door to pay the driver, tremor disappearing. I decided it was best to lead him in the same way until the view of the outside of the building was gone. I doubted the inside would affect him in the same way.

It worked and I was relieved when John was with me inside.

The lab was fantastic. Almost as good as when I left it, though some things had been moved about. It looked as though Molly had a new assistant.

_Just what I need. More people. _

I had no time to worry about who they were though. Molly caught sight of me. She reacted just as I expected her to. Physical contact and girlish screams.

I looked to John, he had to of understood that I wanted her _off_. But he was just giggling to himself. He was enjoying it too much.

The git.

I started listening to the high pitched screams when they squealed out something about the Yard. I assumed that meant my samples had arrived.

"Yes, I'm back. Where are those samples?" I moved over to my microscope, getting it ready. I needed to work on the case and what I didn't need was to be interrogated by an emotional Molly.

John was there for that.

"Here." She gave me the samples in their test tubes along with the other equipment I would need. At least she was one of the better ones in her field. She didn't screw it up when I asked her to do something. The Yard could learn from her.

_SL Blood. Fine._

_SL Stom. Fine._

_SL Liver. Fine._

_S Cof. Mach. A. Unnecessary. _

_S Cof. Mach. B. Unnecessary. _

_S Milk. Fine.  
_

_S Cof. Grounds. Unnecessary. _

_S Sugar. Unnecessary._

_I only asked for a few things. _

Another show of genius by the Yarders who couldn't even listen to my simple command. How they managed to realize not to send me the entire supply of food was beyond me.

_Best to start with basics._

I started off making a blood slide and I could already feel Molly wanting to do or say something. She was always like that around me but I could practically feel the tendrils of her excitement encircling around my throat. Luckily, John caught on and I was able to continue what I was doing.

_Extreme membrane damage. _

_There will be extreme damage if I don't get this coat off. _

_In the way of light. _

"John! Jacket."

"What do you want?"

"Off."

John did as I asked and peeled off the jacket as I reached back with my arms, looking at the abnormalities in the blood cells.

_Need to assess dam- John's hands on chest. _

_Focus!_

_Assess damage of - John's breath on shoulder. Warm. Jacket was warm. Jacket is off. John is warm.  
_

_Go away warm John._

_Damage of- John's hands sliding against neck. Bare neck. Scarf off. Neck exposed, John there, lean back-_

_STOP! _

_Blood. Cells. Damage. Tests._

He was never this distracting before on a case. Not when he was actually physically there. I decided to shove it aside a look at that later.

_LDH assay._

_NK assay._

_CD 69 assay. _

_Cell culture assay. _

_Need to look at T cells. Need TEM._

And so I started off creating cultures and starting tests. I could see the poison. I knew it was plant based. I just needed to know exactly what it was. The concentration was much less, just as a I thought. I even went so far as to test the samples that came from the other hospitals. Lestrade was right. They had been tampered with.

_**Other samples tampered with. - SH**_

_**Inside job? - Lestrade**_

_**Had help. - SH**_

_**You mean like Moriarty? -Lestrade**_

_**Obviously. - SH**_

I worked continuously searching on my phone looking for the answer. The trick with toxic plants was that there was a lot of them.

The hallucinogenic factor narrowed down the number but not enough.

_Angel's Trumpet. _

_Henbane. _

_Ipomoea. _

_Black Nightshade. _

_Deadly Nightshade. _

_Calia. _

_Laburnum. _

_Quaker buttons._

_Etcetera.  
_

I needed to do more tests. That included a LC-MS and a radioreceptor test. I got those started and continued my quest to narrow down the search when she walked in.

I only looked at her briefly but it was enough.

_Late thirties. _

_Overly tan, fake tan, self conscious about body image. _

_Hair half up, in lab, not comfortable showing neck despite protocol. Scar? Likely. _

_Glasses, not contacts. Wants to look smarter or medical purpose. Wants to look smarter more likely.  
_

_Short dress under lab coat. Heels. Snake wrap ankle bracelet. Wants attention drawn to self. _

_Bracelet, new. Base of chain reads NY. Been to New York recently. _

_Lab coat, clipboard, Molly's assistant. _

_Map of building sticking out on clipboard, very new. First week. _

_Desperate for attention. Why? No wedding ring. Tan very evident. Very recent divorce. _

_Unhappy marriage? Leaves on ring for tan. Unlikely.  
_

_Happy marriage but still puts self out there? Done it before. Multiple divorces. _

_How uninterest- Is she looking at John?_

_Eyes graze down, up, down, pause at middle. She is checking him out. _

_She is checking him out?!_

"Hello Tammy." John greeted.

_Tammy. Please John you don't have to be nice to her. _

"Hello John. It's nice to meet you." _Nice to meet him. Of course it is. Don't touch him! Don't touch her! _"Are you a friend of Molly's then?"

_Can she not see me. Is she so stupid she doesn't look around the room she's in? Or is she too fixated on the blonde in front of her. _

"Yeah."

"He's Sherlock's flatmate."

_Molly said name. Look at phone. Pretend to type. _

"Sherlock? As in Sherlock Holmes. I thought he was-"

"Dead? Yeah that's a funny story."

_Don't flirt with her! _

_She doesn't know you don't mean it. Look at her leaning in at you. Snake ankle out trying to draw your eyes. Eyes darting continuously to your waistline every time she touches her glasses. Her body language is practically screaming. _

_Are you blind?!_

"Well I'd love to hear about it sometime." _Love to hear about it sometime. She's luring you in for a date. Look at her l__eaning against the counter, trying to make her breasts bigger. Are you actually listening? Are you thinking about a date? Are you looking at her breasts?! _ "Are you his assistant or something?"

"Assistant? No. I have my own job."

_Well don't make it sound like such an insult. _

"Yeah. What's that?"

_Again with the glasses. Look at where she's looking!_

"I'm a" _Don't say you're a doctor! That's practically saying date me!_ "doctor at-"

_I can't take this. _

"John! We're leaving."

_Screw the tests._

I was sure Molly could handle not letting _Tammy _screw anything up.

"We're what?"

_Pretty woman. No brain. _

_Come on John. _

"Leaving. Let's go. "Molly that sample needs a LC-MS. The radioreceptor needs to finish. Text me when you get the results."

I was already walking and pulling John away

"But I don't have your current-"

"Text John!"

It wouldn't take long.

I was pulling the confused John behind me walking us through the hallways.

I thought we had this figured out. I needed to remind him that we did. _Tammy_ was not a part of this.

"Sherlock- Sherlock what's going on?" _Private place. Lock on door. Bathroom. Aha! _"Sherlock!" John yelled as I dragged him towards the handicap bathroom in the backer part of the hospital. I had memorized the layout of the building a long time ago.

It was easy enough to get him inside. I expected a bit bigger of a fight but John probably just thought I realized something relevant to the case. He would always come when it meant helping people.

As soon as I got him inside and locked the door the only thing I could think was; _mine._

It seemed the attractive lady also degraded my articulation level. Not for the same reason as John. John had a different reason for being dumbfounded by _Tammy_.

I could see her eyes darting all over him. That wasn't allowed. He wasn't hers. She had to know that. John had to know that.

I walked John back into the door and pinned him half out of shock and half out of intensity. I needed _Tammy_ out of my head and his. I needed my thoughts to be back on him and then back on my work.

I did it the best way I knew how. I recalled exactly what made John fold the last time and repeated it again. I gripped him tight and made sure he felt me.

My lips crushed around his lips, where she lingered as he talked. My arms moved over his sides and chest, up his neck grabbing him closer. He was responding. That was a good sign. The girl was leaving his mind. His mouth opened and I slipped my tongue inside, something _she _would never be able to do.

Before I could grip him stronger and lead him to an area we were probably both not ready for I pushed back off of him and the wall, not allowing him to catch his breath.

"What-"

"I want Tammy out of the lab when we get back."

_There. Simple enough._

"Wha-? Is this because she was talking to me?"

"Oh please. Talking." _Really not the word. _"She was practically undressing you. With her _glasses_ and _ankle bracelet_."

_How did he not notice these things? He had to at least of known she was flirting. _

"What ankle- you know what? Not important." _Yes important. She was trying to drag your eyes up and down her body with it!_ "And Sherlock you don't have anything to worry about. She was just being nice."

"Nice women are your weakness John."

"I'm not going to go on a date with her."

_Date? I never said anything about a date. _

_Out loud._

_What made him say that?_

"So it did cross your mind?"

"No actually. And...oh god, you are infuriating." He was pushing up off the wall.

_Straight back, fists at side, head up. Military. _

_Fight coming. _

"I'm allowed to talk to women."

_Women who don't have eye sex with you._

"Not her."

"Sherlock, how am I supposed to learn to trust you again if you can't even trust me?"

_Damn. _

_The T word. _

I did trust _him. _I didn't trust _her. _ Not that he would listen to that argument. He knew trust was one of the things I was worried about. He knew that the fact that I worried about such a thing was infuriating. There was no argument I could make that wouldn't end up with that 'trust' coming back to bite me. I was going to have to bite the bullet.

"Fine. But I don't want her in the lab. I'll never be able to work with her gawking at you."

"Alright." _Small victory_. "But I'm not going to kick her out."

_Good._

_More fun for me. _

We were interrupted by the sound of John's phone going off. "Tests are done." I nodded and walked out of the bathroom getting ready to solve this case once and for all.

In the lab _Tammy_ was smiling again at John. I didn't like that. I would have to get her out at the perfect time. The time where she would never want to return.

I continued over to the results and focused on what I was doing, listening for her to speak again.

"So John, you were saying something about being a doctor?"

"Tammy-"

"Sherlock. Don't."

_Don't worry John. I'll get rid of her. _

"Do you really think it's wise to be seeking a date so soon after the divorce? Third if I'm not mistaken." I gave her a very fake and very quick smile as I moved back over to my phone. The tests showed exactly what I needed and I wanted to continue my search. I could narrow it down, I knew it.

"Excuse me?"

_Offensive tone. Struck a nerve._

_Perfect._

"Sherlock, shut up right now." _John, you're no fun. _"Don't pay any attention to him."

"But how-"

"And definitely don't ask how. Sherlock apologize to-"

_Apologize? Please. _

I was busy reading of the screen in my hand and double checking with the results.

_Hallucination. Enlarged pupils. Toxic plant. Hours to take effect. Tropane alkaloids. _

"Aha! Atropa belladonna!" I shoved on my coat reading fast across the screen and getting ready to leave the lab, and _Tammy_, behind.

"Atropa- what?" John asked as I grabbed and led him towards the door. He shouted goodbyes to both Molly and _Tammy_. I didn't see why it was necessary. As soon as my scarf was wrapped around my neck I worked on texting Lestrade. I explained to John all I had found online as well along the way.

_**Atropa belladonna. Toxic plant. Widely available. Takes hours. Some could still die. Hospitals know how to take care of it. -SH**_

_**What symptoms? - Lestrade**_

_**Do I have to do everything for you? Google it! - SH**_

_**Thanks Sherlock. I'll send out the warning. You were wrong about the co-worker. - Lestrade**_

_**How? - SH**_

_**They all have alibis. You can come down if you like. All of them are still here. I can hold them. - Lestrade**_

_**On my way. - SH**_

By the time I sent my final text I had explained to John what we were doing and we were on our way to see the co-workers. One of which was clearly a liar. If the murderer had help they obviously had an alibi.

* * *

Meeting with Lestrade I had to repeat myself. Something that I found he would never not ask me to do.

Thirty seconds and I could tell who it was. It would have taken less if I didn't ask about the boy being gay. That was just to watch him squirm mostly.

The first thing I looked at when walking into the room was the reflection in the window instead of the people like everyone else was. They did the predictable and missed the important. They had to learn at some point that reflections carry secrets.

_Girl looking at boy across room. Boy looking at girl's chest. Woman, too old. Other girl looking at door. Other looking at phone. Phone emoticon symbol of a heart. Scratching side of phone. Aggression or nervous habit?_

"Can we go?" Asked the girl who was looking at the door.

_Looking at door, asks to leave, appointment or date. Too late for most appointments.  
_

_Moderately cheap outfit. Nice shoes. Combed hair. _

_Date. _

_Tennis bracelet. Expensive. _

_Long term boyfriend or girlfriend. _

"Almost. Sherlock here is just going to ask you a couple of questions. Sherlock."

_Girl looking at boy again. No aggression. Lust. _

_Tight, low cut clothes. Drawing attention to self. Has boy's attention. _

_Hair falling off shoulder shows small bruise on lower neck. Hints of concealer rubbing off. _

_Probably caused by boy. _

_Boy still looking at chest. Waist of time. _

_Girl with phone. _

_Still looking at phone. Still scratching. Won't look up for more than a second. _

_Nervous habit. _

_Scratches on face. From self?_

_No doesn't match. Not from animal._

_Glasses. How?_

_Shoved upwards from something put over nose. _

_Poisonous plants, gas mask. Duh._

_Sitting behind table. Doesn't want to be seen. _

_Holding purse close to body with other hand. Important item inside. _

_So obvious. _

_What is on her phone that is so important?_

_Best to distract. _

As soon as she pressed a button and the screen lit up I turned towards the boy feigning interest in him. He looked away from the girl's breasts long enough to look petrified. It was fun. "Ever been to Fire?"

"To what?"

_Shifting eyes. Dumbfound expression. Low IQ probably. _

_Girl's phone. Heart emoticon. Initials CR and TM. _

"In Vauxhall. Heard it was fun." That was a lie. I knew it because of a homicide from a few years ago. I doubted anyone as normal as the others in the room would find my description of the murder fun. "Wondered if you've been?"

_Heart and initials, anniversary. _

_No signs of a relationship. _

_Different people? Parents? Heart symbol with parents. Unlikely. __  
_

"I'm sorry. I don't know what that is." _Completely dumbfounded expression. Shrug in shoulders. Scared look in eyes. Telling truth. _"No I haven't been."

"Shame." Not that I cared. I already knew he wasn't gay I just needed him for the distraction. "It's her." I pointed to the girl with the phone.

_Eyes wide. Sharp inhale. Scratching stopped on phone. Shock. _

"Crissy?" The girl with the date asked.

_Chrissy. The C to the R. _

_No relationship. TM victim's boyfriend. _

_Obsessive._

_Perfect. _

"How do you know?" Lestrade asked as he always would.

"Initials."

"What?"

And so I jumped into an explanation pointing out the things they all had missed and explained why they were important. The best part was always reaching the end when I would ultimately get her to confess. It wasn't that hard with a case like this. The murderess was already obsessive and nervous, she just needed a push. I provided that push and got her confession.

"He loved me. She tricked him. He was mine."

_Love. How delusional._

_I shouldn't think that with John in the room. _

_John is not delusional. Anymore. _

_He did come to terms with his feeling for me when he was. Love is delusional._

"That's right. I visited Sarah at work and poured her coffee for her. I made it special. I don't think she realized the double shot of flavor I gave her that day was something she'd _really_ never tried before."

_Daily coffee. I was right._

_Yard can figure out details. _

"Chrissy..." The girl with the hickey was showing signs of shock. They were probably friends on some level. I didn't care.

"I watched the tape. She was hallucinating bugs crawling inside her body, under her skin. She kept calling out for him. As if he would come."

Nasty hallucinations were relevant to the plant. In one instance a woman who had accidentally taken too much of the poison hallucinated that her skin was peeling off her body. The hospital had to wrap her entire body in gauze to keep her from doing damage. It wasn't relevant anymore though and I would delete that information.

"Grab her purse. You'll no doubt find the key to the closet in there. Along with the locket." As if her grabbing her purse even closer to her body didn't make it obvious. It seemed I touched a nerve with the locket. I started to leave as I saw the rage flash to her face.

_Red face. Clenched fists. Tight jaw._

_Time to go. _

"That was mine! He never should have given it to her! They said I could take it."

_They._

_More than one helped. _

_Moran and Moriarty both?  
_

_Case was too easy. _

_Workers of theirs? _

_Need more information. Can't get in front of John. John will worry. _

_Irrelevant anyway. No longer taking them down. Part of deal.  
_

_I can't._

"They said it would be okay."

_I can't for John._

"Come along John." I called for him to follow as I made my way to the street to go home. I hoped he wouldn't have noticed what she said.

"Well that was quite the evening." John said as we reached the sidewalk. "They?"

I was wrong. He had a knack for noticing things I didn't want him to.

"Hmm?" I couldn't ignore him. He would just get mad. Best to redirect.

"The girl. She said _they_ let her take the locket. Who are they?"

"The girl is psychotic. Talking nonsense."

"Sherlock. Are _they_ who I think _they_ are?"

Now all I could do was ignore him.

_I don't know and you don't need to worry. _

"I can't believe that girl did that. She was so young."

_Change of subject. I can work with that._

_However dull. _

"Age doesn't matter."

"All over a bloke?"

"I believe the phrase is 'love makes people do crazy things'."

I smirked back at him as I said that. I still did not know if I truly believed what John felt was love for me. I wasn't completely comfortable yet. For all I knew, even though his journal said different, he could have only felt that chemical concoction for his hallucinations.

They made him do crazy things.

"That's not love. That's crazy."

I smiled at the irony in his statement.

* * *

In the cab back I could already feel the fun of the case leaving me. Yes it was fun while it lasted. Terribly simplistic and lacking finesse but I had not been able to play with lab equipment like that in a long time. There was a certain quality about it that made it slightly entertaining.

Plus John was there.

Speaking of John...

_Looking at me, opening and reshutting mouth several times. _

_Runs hand through hair. _

_Rubs hands on thighs._

_He wants to talk._

I didn't want to talk. I knew what he wanted to talk about and I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to go to my room and play my violin until he fell asleep. My violin was really the only thing I had to do. Maybe I would even finish up that book when he slept.

When we reached the flat I darted for my room hoping to shut the door and drown out his knocking. The boxes that were left about managed to slow him down but not quite enough. He followed me to my room, calling me as he went.

"Sherlock! Sherlock we need to talk."

"We don't need to. You're just going to insist upon it."

"So flatter me then."

_Tammy, Moriarty, Moran._

_Danger._

_Upset John._

_Emotions._

_Feelings._

_All possible topics. _

"No." I tried to shut him out of the door but he saw it coming. He cut his leg between the door and frame and wouldn't move. I ignored him and readied myself to drown out his complaints but his hand fell across the strings of my violin.

_My violin._

_Get off!_

He was going to hurt it. Just because he touched it when I was gone did not mean it was okay for him to touch it now.

"Something needs to change."

_What?_

_Work, smoking, drugs, mess, lab, him, me?_

_Was he kicking me out? Over what happened earlier?_

"Nothing needs to change."

_Except for your fingers on my violin. _

"Yes it does."

_"_Why_?" _I couldn't stand it. I pulled away from him and went to replace my violin in its case. I would only make him mad by playing at this point and if he was on the verge of kicking me out I didn't want to push it.

I didn't want to leave.

"Why? Sherlock." _Sigh. Annoyance. _"Because you say you don't know, and that's fine by the way. You say you want to just go with the flow. That's fine. But if we're going with the flow, that doesn't mean I'm yours. That means quite the opposite actually."

_Tammy. The girl, not kicking me out. _

_Emotions, feelings. _

"Just because I'm a tad possessive-"

"A tad?! You basically attacked me in the bathroom, a public bathroom, just because she looked at me!"

_Barely an attack. _

"She was doing more than just looking." I gently placed my violin down as I noticed I was gripping it tighter and tighter out of frustration. I probably would have to tune it again. "Molly was throwing her at you."

_Introductions were gateways and Molly opened that gate. _

"Well you don't see me getting mad every time a girl or guy looks at you. Including Molly."

"Please. That is not the same thing."

People only looked at me like that because I wanted them to. I had no interest in them. I just needed to use them and people were more susceptible to being used if they were attracted to the person doing the using.

John had people looking at him because he was naturally good looking and nice and understanding. I was not. People only liked the lie they saw.

I was done with this conversation. If John hadn't figured out why I did what I did by now, there was no helping him. He wouldn't let me leave though. Every move I made he would mirror to make sure I couldn't go anywhere.

"They have no chance." I said, giving up on getting out. He'd just follow me down the fire escape.

"Exactly. So how am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to have a chance?"

_Stupid question._

"You're different."

"Right." _Hand over face. Breath out. Frustration. Doesn't believe me. How does he not believe me?_ "Look, I know its only been a day but I don't know if I can do this, go with the flow stuff. I'm not going anywhere Sherlock. You know that."

_Wants to change relationship._

_Not going anywhere. Why would he add that?_

_He wants me to reciprocate. _

_He thinks I'll leave. _

"But you feel like I will."

"Well-"

What was this feeling? His confirmation brought back that weight on my chest. I was still getting used to the idea of my feelings physically affecting me. I didn't like this. It didn't feel good. Not like how it could.

The guilt was coming back. I lost his trust. It was my fault. He thought I would leave.

I hated guilt.

"Unless there is another meaning to our relationship?" I asked.

_We have established this. _

I thought my confession from the night before would have been enough. I wasn't going anywhere. I told him how I felt. Our relationship had changed.

"I thought we already crossed that boundary." I reminded him.

"Well you say you care and the things you've been doing lately are great. But what if that's not enough? I have needs too you know."

_Needs?_

_Physical?_

_John is worried I will not reciprocate because of my former asexuality._

"If you're referring to the physical needs of the human body, I am willing to progress in time to-"

"No, no." _No? _"I need to be with someone. I don't mind chasing after you when it comes to cases or experiments or whatever. But I can't be chasing after you with this. If you want to be with me, do it. All in."

"All in?" I had to turn away from him so he couldn't see me thinking.

Terms like these had never been brought up to me before.

_All in?_

Did that mean I would have to give up my Work? I didn't know if I could do that. It was my life. John was there in it too. Would he rather he be it? The cases helped fill my mind though. John didn't like it when I was too bored. John wouldn't like it if I returned to the drugs. He really would want no part of me. I would be kicked out. I thought we had a good balance. Now John wanted more. More of what?

He didn't want to chase me. He wasn't chasing me. I was already his. Did he want to be mine? Did he not realize that was a bad idea?

Everything I touched was temporary. I rarely held onto things. When I did I kept them close and that was things. People always left me.

"Otherwise I'm going to have to think about some stuff."

_Think about some stuff..._

_He's going to leave me._

_He said he wouldn't go anywhere._

_He'll stay and be unhappy. He'll stay and try to move on. _

_Unless he's mine._

_What else is mine? How can I make him see what this means._

The answer was near my hand on the table. As soon as I saw the violin I realized I could make him understand.

"Do you know how long I've had this violin for?"

"This is not the time to be talking about-"

_Just answer the question. _

"Do you know?"

"No." _Frustration returned._

I took in a deep breath as I quickly got my thoughts together. This was something only Mycroft knew. I hadn't told anywone. "Since I was six. My mother picked it out after she realized my potential. She offered something for Mycroft but he chose some fancy sword or something stupid like that. My mother was well off. Very well off. This didn't put much of a dent in her savings. But it wasn't the money I appreciated. For once my mother chose to push my talent instead of hinder it. I thought she had accepted me."

I had thought. But I was young and naive then.

"She paid for a tutor and I learned to play. I hold great value in this violin. I always have. To say I love it may not even be a stretch. Though I wouldn't use that word." _John would._ "This is what happens to the things I care about. This may be the only thing." _Thing. Not person. _"I am possessive. There is a reason no one is allowed to touch it. I don't like to share my things."

It was at that moment that John felt the need to put a hand on my back much like I did for him that afternoon. I didn't see why. I didn't need to be comforted.

"If you want me to go all in, as you say, then you have to understand that it means completely." I turned and locked eyes with him. He had to understand he didn't want what he was asking. I had to make him see in clearest terms that he did not want me like he thought he did. "You know how I am John. Better than most."

I wanted him to stay. I had never met someone like John and those nine months away from him were terrible. I couldn't let him leave me but he eventually would want to. I'd never met anyone like John and I doubted the chances of meeting someone like him again. If we did what he wanted not only would it be a new level for him but it would be a new level for me. If we did what he wanted, I would never want to let him go. Not that I could handle that now.

He was making a mistake by asking for this. He had to see. He had to take it back. He would eventually. I needed to scare him off it.

"It means completely and it means for a long time. Even if you don't want me anymore."

"I can't imagine not wanting you."

_All it takes is time._

"I drive everyone away."

"Not everyone."

Was this really not turning him off?

_He is so different. So John._

I knew I should have tried to fight him off more but it wasn't happening. I was already caving in to his sweet face and hopeful look. Before I could argue with myself I was wrapping an arm around his waist. I didn't know if it was right or not, really no thinking about it, but it seemed okay.

In a case when physical contact was required I would strategize the best way to go about it and the person's reaction. Instinct was trying to take over and it was confusing.

John was always different.

"People will be driven from you, just for being around me."

"Like they weren't already?"

_Damn that smile._

It was that flash of a half smile and eye quirk that said he was trying to be serious but found whatever I said really amusing.

"I've never been with someone like this before." I was running out of arguments.

"Neither have I."

"You've had relationships."

"It is not as complicated as people make it out to be." He pulled me closer from the desk as he wrapped both his arms around me. My arms were at uncomfortable angles as I didn't know where to put them. One hung awkward at my side while the other was stuck under his. It seemed he wasn't letting me go.

"Then why do all of yours end so badly?"

I was laughing on the inside. I knew the answer.

"Do you really have to ask?"

"No."

_Me._

"I'm willing to be with you Sherlock. No matter what. Completely and committed. But I don't want to push you into anything."

_Worried about me?_

_Did he not think I could handle it?_

_What did he expect?_

_Did he want us to change completely?_

"I won't be easier to deal with."

He laughed at me, "Never expected you to be."

"My habits won't change for you."

"Doubt you could if you tried."

He was really not letting this go.

"I won't put up with any domestic nagging."

"Yes you will." He pulled me even closer as I was about to tell him off but shut me down with his next words. "I do every day."

Was he saying I nagged?

"No looming the relationship over my head."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

_Relationship._

The word felt foreign to me. I was okay with it surprisingly. As long as he didn't expect me to change for him.

There was were a few parts of the aspect that was bothering me.

People who gave titles to their relationship usually were alright with letting the world know, hence the title. This was not something I was yet comfortable with. As for myself, I could care less what people thought. If the whole world knew I was with John I wouldn't blink an eye. John however would care. He would think he would be able to handle it but then the jokes would come and the uncomfortableness and everything that followed. He had dealt with that enough.

Not only that but I was a public figure. If people found out I was alive and I was with John, the ridicule would be too vast to contain.

John would never allow himself to ask to not be public. He would fight it out. I had to make sure he didn't need to. By making him believe it was me who didn't want it, without getting him upset.

"What?" John asked when I didn't speak.

"I don't want to tell people."

"I never planned on making an announcement. What's our business is ours."

That was one issue. The next was the physicality. We touched on it before but we both hadn't really expressed how new it was to each other.

"Physical relationships don't-"

"We'll take it one step at a time."

_Subject avoided._ I was okay with that.

The next issue, feelings. John was used to dating those women who admired his sensitivity. They could open up and he would listen, as long as I didn't drag him away. I wasn't one to share how I felt. I didn't really think feelings were necessary. I was sure he wouldn't like it if I deleted them altogether. He would want something like a relationship required. Romance and talking and such nonsense as that.

"I'm not good at expressing...feelings."

"I know. You don't have to be. Just once and a while remind me I matter?"

_Once and a while, tell John he matters. Noted. _

I couldn't think of any more terms to deal with before coming to an agreement. It seemed we had reached it.

"Alright."

"Alright?"

"I believe I just said-"

"I just want to make sure we're on the same page. We're together. In a relationship. Committed and exclusive." _Yes, yes, yes. "_You Sherlock Holmes are my...what do we call ourselves?"

"Do we really have to label it?"

"Not really, but it sets my mind at ease."

_Boyfriend, jouvenile. _

_Significant other, long._

_Lover, too emotional._

_Partner...works._

"Partners is fine. We don't have to explain beyond that."

"Alright. You're my partner."

_John is my partner. John is with me and he is not going to leave. Nothing will change. _

"Yes."

"Alright."

"Are we done?" These kinds of talks always made me want to run from the room. We had established what we were, time to move on. No need in lingering on anything.

"Yes." I breathed out and let my hands fall from his sides but he wasn't letting me go yet. "And Sherlock?" I waited for him to talk but he didn't until I looked at him. "No one else has a chance but you."

_Adrenaline rush. Heart skipped a beat?_

_What were these reactions and why was I smiling?_

"And so begins the sappy emotional boyfriend talk."

"Shut up." John laughed again and before I could try to leave again he had me pinned against him with his mouth on mine. My smile got wider as I kissed my partner. He pulled away far too quick but I was too prideful to bring him back. I was the one who made a big deal out of nothing changing after all.

We returned to the living room as John pulled out his laptop and I tuned my violin. I started weaving in and out of the boxes as I played not realizing exactly what song it was until John started to sway.

When I was gone, one of my many cases brought me to Italy. I had been investigating a murderer who killed ten women and placed each of their bodies in a gondola. Each gondola was set in the water and lit on fire as they were sent down the stream. No one saw it happen and no one knew why it did.

When the bodies were taken out they found the initials SH engraved on a fireproof part of the gondola. Every newspaper article found on the internet and on hard copy shared this information and had an advertisement for the movie Vieni Fuori a Giocare. That translated to _Come Out and Play. _It was Moran calling me to Italy. I didn't know why. A trap would have been the obvious answer. I guessed he needed me elsewhere so he could finish off another transaction while I was in a different country.

I didn't have a case lined up though so I went, knowing he wanted me there for a reason. There had to be a good reason. I wanted to know what it was.

The reason was psychological torment.

The was easy enough to solve. Barely a challenge. Each woman was impregnated by the same man. A man named John Watson.

This man was Johnathan Thomas Watson. A Canadian man, late forties, no relation to my John. That didn't stop Victor from having a good laugh when he saw me after I put that man away. They must have realized I was well on my way to forgetting my John and adjusting to my lonely lifestyle. They wanted to change that.

It was the first case I met Victor on.

It was not the last time they tormented me.

After putting John T. Watson away I had been left too distracted to search for another case straight off. That was all my life had been since I left. I would work on case, find the next, solve the next, and never think of John. Now I was thinking of him. It was impossible not to.

They had done their job and slowed me down.

While I was there I went out to eat. It was the first time I had done so but I had no one to hide from then. Moran knew exactly where I was. If he wanted to do something he could have.

Normally when I did eat I would anonymously order in and have no contact with the delivery person. Or I would gather my own food eat alone, hidden away. John was in my mind though and so I went out.

I picked at a plate of lasagna, not really sure why that was what I ordered, when the violin started to play. I smiled ironically as the musician played a suave romantic tune. It sounded so uplifting for someone as far down as I was. I could practically see John in front of me looking over at the player, intoxicated with the melody. I knew he would have loved it. I hated it right then. The song was just so John. He was always the light that dragged me out of the dark. I didn't want the continuous reminder. I wanted to stay in the dark. I smashed my plate across the table and stormed off, leaving the country.

As I played the tune I heard in the restaurant around the room I could see how John was enjoying it, as I imagined he would. I felt remarkably different about the song as well. While before I didn't want the positive energy that accompanied the song, now I wanted it for John.

When I was running out of notes, having left the song early due to my storm out, I noticed John writing up the case we had just worked. We had our small dispute which ended in me flipping myself upside down as I viewed John's smile. It didn't seem like it would disappear. I didn't really want it to.

John went to bed eventually though and I was left to my boredom. Violin only kept me occupied for so long. I continued to try and create an ending to the song but it seemed I lost my inspiration.

That was always when everything went down hill. When John was gone.

I wasn't tired and I was bored. I tried going back to that book I tucked away in my sock drawer but I wasn't focused. My mind drifted off to my cocaine. I knew where it was. I knew how to get more. I thought about getting more. John was already asleep, he wouldn't know. I could even visit him to smoke again and he wouldn't know I went out.

Then the guilt started up again. It seemed even more now that John was officially my partner. He had expressed a level of trust in me that I didn't expect so soon.

Then I thought about a better hiding place. I could stash more than just books in it. John would never need to know.

I would have to get tools to build it. That meant going out.

So I did the unthinkable and went out. There was a 24/7 shop I stopped at to grab a few tools to make a new hideaway. Then as I was leaving the store it all hit me.

I had gone through the worst parts of the withdrawal already, before I came to 221B and back to John. He wouldn't need to see the pitiful shaking, quivering, sick mess of a person that Mycroft and Lestrade saw. That didn't mean it wasn't hard.

Every inch of me screamed to take another hit. Just one more hit. Just to feel that way again. Everything would be clear, there would be no emotions to deal with. I wouldn't have to worry about John, our partnership, or the feeling of guilt or anything. It would just feel free. Free from my mind and free from everything.

I told myself that was the real reason I came out. I wasn't going to go out just to build myself a hideaway for books. There was another reason.

I knew two blocks down there was a dealer I could trust. He wouldn't recognize me and I wouldn't need to worry. The guilt came bubbling back up but I was already moving. I saw the dealer and my mind started off on me mixing thoughts and swirling them around.

_No._

_John._

_Yes._

_Need._

_Partner._

_One more._

_He'll never know._

_He'll find out._

_He'll leave you._

_He knows already._

_He'll kick you out._

_John cares._

_I don't. _

_You'll hurt him._

_He won't know!_

I couldn't think. I needed to think.

Before I could argue with myself any more I was already walking away, back home, with a bag of white powder that felt like a sack of bricks in my pocket.

To my credit I didn't buy my usual amount. I bought much much less.

That didn't stop the guilty thought from coming on. I had to shut down my brain and focus on analytical facts about reflective properties of water on sidewalks the entire way home. If I could call it my home anymore.

I threw my tools for the hideaway in my room and tried to focus on that. I couldn't.

I already was going for the cigarette carton with the cocaine from before inside. I had it out in my hand and kept staring. I knew I could do it. John was sleeping and I had a back up supply so I wouldn't get crazy. I could do it an no one would know.

John's voice rung out in my mind.

_Whenever you're feeling symptoms and want to smoke. I don't care if it's bad or not, I want to know about it._

In my mind I could see him talking to me and I could see me talking back.

_It doesn't make sense. Why-_

_It doesn't have to make sense. Just do it because I ask._

_I don't-_

_Sherlock._

_Fine._

Why did he have to care so much?

I threw the cocaine back in and went to change in my room. John couldn't know I went out.

I hadn't felt so much shame for changing before.

I slipped into some loose pajama bottoms and my favorite silk robe before grabbing a new pack of freshly bought cigarettes and walking up to John's room. The hideaway project would keep me occupied for another time. If I could go through with it.

John was sleeping when I sat down on the bed. His snore was small as he rested on his back.

When I sat down he smiled up at me and snuggled into my side, easily finding my hand. I smiled briefly before a fresh wave of terrible feelings washed over me. I hated lying to John like this. He was so trusting.

I wished he could see what I just did. I wished he was more observant, that he could see the dampness of my hair or the coolness of my skin. I wanted him to yell at me. But he didn't even know.

I squeezed his hand to tell him to sleep. I couldn't stand it if he looked at me again. I would be sure to break.

I was already breaking.

* * *

**AN: **This chapter was hell-a fun to write. I hope you liked it. If I missed anything or if you are confused or if you need something cleared up, please let me know. I will change/fix/shove.

I took chemistry twice and I'm in my third round of biology. All different classes, high school and college. Fun fact, I despise biology. The reason I took it so much is when you're in college, life makes you chose classes that only fit in your schedule. Like a biology class with a jerk of a teacher and a lab at 9am. Grrr life. Chemistry I liked but never got past the basics. My brother is a chem major (I'm jealous, minus the Organic Chemistry).

My point? I know nothing. I took so much of it and I still know nothing. So you can correct me on anything and I will not argue.

Life likes to kick me in the butt repetitively so I hope to get the next chapter out to you soon but I foresee a busy week. Plus (bragging now and will brag again) next weekend I'm going to the SPN convention in Toronto (insert extreme fangirl scream here). I'm getting my picture with Misha Collins. (Really, the scream is so high pitched your eardrums are bleeding). I should get the next two chapters up by then but I make no promises. At least one. That's a half promise.

Cool stories about belladonna at the end of the page on : (www.)(thepoisongarden.)(co.)(uk)(/atoz)(/atropa)( _belladonna)(.htm )

If you ever feel like doing a research paper on it, I have about 20 articles for you.

Much love, and I hope you don't hate my long author's notes. Thanks for favs/follows/reviews!


	19. Chapter 19

**AN:** Guess what I did instead of the mountain of homework I have to do... Guess who hates herself...

Holy long chapter. Enjoy please :)

And yes, John is a very clean person.

* * *

**John POV**

* * *

The next few days were just as hectic as when he first came.

I invited Harry up to visit that weekend. I figured she ought to know what was going on and the only way to believe Sherlock was actually back was to see him. I couldn't tell her why she was invited up so I told her that I wanted to meet her girlfriend and that we could go out to dinner. She was still dating the one that kept her sober and I really did want to meet her. I thought it was a brotherly thing to do also. Check up on the sister's significant other.

Sherlock mostly stayed in the apartment because there wasn't an interesting case. I was surprised to find out that the case we did complete didn't make it to the news. The story was covered but our participation was not mentioned. I was sure it was a request by Sherlock to keep from being attacked by the public for being back. I just got the rest of the information on the case from Lestrade and finished up my blog entry on my computer. I would post it later if I felt like it.

Sherlock was pretty bored. He didn't have his equipment yet. Apparently he had bought some online and it would be delivered as soon as possible. To Sherlock that was defiantly not soon enough.

He went to St. Bart's to borrow their equipment more than once. I was fine with it. As long as he was kept busy. I was sure Molly didn't mind in the slightest. Tammy I wasn't sure about but I figured she was smart enough to avoid him after what happened. Sherlock didn't tell me and I was sure not to ask.

With Sherlock gone I did get my chance where I could finally actually think. It turned out I didn't have that much to think about.

Everything seemed so overwhelming before because of how chaotic it was. When I sat down to look at everything I realized I already had it all figured out.

**One** - Sherlock was not dead. He lied and did a terrible thing because he had to. I believed that he had to. I didn't like it but there was no point in dwelling on it.

**Two** - My hallucinations were gone. I hadn't had any hint of one come at me and I didn't think they would. With Sherlock around I wouldn't need to worry.

**Three** - Sherlock felt bad. He came back. Granted, his timing could have been better, but he still came back. He was trying very hard to make it okay. With everything he did he now had me in mind. It was different than before. I couldn't explain how but Sherlock seemed to pay more attention. It really looked like he was doing all he could to make it up to me without shoving it down my throat. He actually opened up to me, something I was sure he had never done before. I now knew that Sherlock actually felt. I knew how he felt.

**Four** - I loved Sherlock. I was not crazy for coming to that conclusion before. Within the few busy days we had, even though he hurt me so badly, I couldn't help that feeling that rose every time I looked at him. There was absolutely no way I was letting him go and he was just going to deal with it.

**Five** - Sherlock was my partner. He may not have liked the idea so much, relationships scaring him, but we were in one. On some level, whether Sherlock wanted to admit it or not, he had feelings for me. Love was foreign to him so I wouldn't bring up the issue anytime soon but he did admit to another level being added to our relationship.

**Six** - Sherlock was possessive. That was just fact.

**Seven** - Sherlock wasn't going anywhere. I believed. I was pretty sure. The trust issues were still there. That would just have to come with time.

**Eight** - I didn't like eight. **Eight** - Sherlock was using again. I knew we had a small system for working it out but I was going to have to keep a closer eye on it. Mycroft had even contacted me on the subject.

I was coming off of work when I saw Anthea waiting outside the doors of my office. I gave her a smile and a hello but she wasn't much for that. She simply turned around and said, "This way."

I was a bit on edge to follow her. I didn't have my gun on me. The last time she had taken me anywhere was to meet Irene Adler. I didn't know if Mycroft still trusted her or if the meeting with Adler was approved by him.

Still, I followed her and slipped into the black car waiting for us. She wasn't much of a chatter box so I simply waited until we stopped. Where we stopped made my jaw drop low. It was a giant mansion sitting on a a hill somewhere outside of London. It was positively huge!

Bushes upon bushes covered the sides. I couldn't see exactly where the house ended. It was high, multiple levels, probably enough for an elevator. Vines grew up the side of the stone outside leading up and crawling around bay windows with color glass designs. Stone columns arched in the doorway covering a series of steps, leading to a patio, leading to the large wooden double doors.

The inside was even more grand the the out. I was sure it had to belong to royalty. The room I was led in was a very large circle with a dual staircase leading to the second floor. The second floor showed an even bigger bay window than the ones in the front. The ground floor was blocked off by more halls in every direction. Geometric artistic symbols covered the circle in the middle that spanned out to lead to many statues and paintings covering the walls.

"Upstairs, second door on the left." Anthea interrupted my gawking and I nodded. I was pretty sure I was meeting Mycroft here but where was here?

It was better than a warehouse.

I knocked on the door Anthea said and waited until I heard Mycroft give a gruff "come in" on the other side. I breathed out a sigh of relief that this was actually Mycroft and entered. This room was obviously a study but it was so much more. There was a fireplace with a small couch, a few chairs, tables, lamps, and a great big desk where Mycroft sat. It all seemed a bit much.

"Hello Dr. Watson. Please have a seat." Mycroft gestured towards one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, not looking up from the paper in his hands. I did as he asked and waited for him to talk.

It was odd to be spending some alone time with him. I had hated him for so long and though I apologized it still didn't feel quite right. Then again I was never actually comfortable around this Holmes brother.

"How are you?" Mycroft asked looking up from his work with that fake grin plastered on his face.

"Fine but I'm sure that's not why I'm here."

The smile on his face fell abruptly. "How is Sherlock?"

"He's...Sherlock. He seems to be doing alright." I knew on some level Mycroft did actually care about his little brother but that couldn't be the reason he called me in. Mycroft had cameras if he really wanted to know how he was.

"And that is the problem. He is a very good liar. He can _seem_ to be whatever he chooses." Mycroft let his paper fall to his desk, stood, and walked around to face me better. He breathed in a sigh as if he was trying to phrase what he was going to say. It was doubtful because if he called me he very well knew what he wanted. "You are aware of my brother's...recreational habits."

Ah, the drugs. That made much more sense. Mycroft would obviously had deduced it from being in our apartment. Sherlock was chain smoking like mad after all. That had to be a huge signal.

"I am." I nodded a bit grimly.

"He says you are helping him." Mycroft said leaning back against his desk. I shifted in my chair knowing Sherlock would not be happy knowing I had this talk and that he would know I had it within five seconds of being home.

"I am trying."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to try harder."

I froze trying to understand what he meant. "Did he..." How did I ask if he was spying and actually saw Sherlock use again?

"I'm afraid I don't know." Mycroft continued without my finishing. "He went out late the other night and dogged our cameras. My assumption would be that it was not by accident. I see you were unaware of this fact."

"Do you really have nothing better to do with those things than stalk your brother?" I knew it was out of line and Mycroft was only trying to help but I found myself annoyed. Really I was mad at the idea of Sherlock tricking me and using right under my nose.

Just when I was so sure we would be able to fight it together.

Mycroft was not moved by my sudden change in tone. "You may want to search his room. He won't like it but if you don't do it he'll think he can get away with it." I nodded not really sure what to say. I knew it had to be done but I could already hear the fight it would cause in my head.

"So why did you wait?" I looked back up at him meeting his blank expression. "You said the other night. You waited days to tell me. Why am I here now?"

"The reason I brought you here is to tell you that if it becomes too much, he is always welcome here. You are a busy man and you will not always have your eyes on him, as I have just expressed to you. The last time he went through this he was brought home where we could keep a round the clock eye on him."

I nodded again, accepting that it could be an option. I had more faith in Sherlock than I think I should have. He was an addict and Mycroft had helped him before but I wasn't about to let him get away from me. Then I shook my head as I suddenly realized what Mycroft said, "Home? This? _This_ is your home?" I looked around the huge space finding it surprisingly easy to picture Mycroft living there.

"Yes." He nodded once. "And it was Sherlock's."

Sherlock's childhood home. I had to stop myself from saying _wow_ out loud. His mom _was_ well off. I wondered where she was. If she still lived here, it was big enough, or if she moved, or if she was even still alive. I wouldn't ask, I was just curious.

This place was so big. I wondered what Sherlock's room looked like. I wanted to know where it was. Did he have his own lab built in? I wanted to know if I did have to bring him here, where would he stay. Would he have a place to lock me out of, a place to hide, if he was mad at me? I was sure he would be.

"You of course would be welcome to stay too. We have many spare rooms." Mycroft said doing the Holmes' mind trick and figuring out what I was thinking about.

"Thanks Mycroft." I said nodding my head as he rounded the desk and sat. The conversation was clearly over.

"I'll be in touch." He said and I turned to see Anthea waiting for me at the door.

The black car took us back to 221B where I slowly walked up to find Sherlock watching some crap TV show. I wasn't sure what it was, it didn't really matter as long he was occupied. I looked him over and could tell there were no signs of drugs. Just a cigarette smoldering between his fingertips.

"You went to Mycroft's." Sherlock said without looking up from the TV.

"Yeah." I replied, feeling slightly guilty.

"Let me guess, brother wants me to move back home again." Sherlock's face was a mask of indifference but I could see as he gripped the cigarette a bit too tight and it started to bend. He was not indifferent to that idea.

"He said it is an option if you want it." I was still stuck in the doorway, not sure how mad Sherlock was going to get. "He said you went out the other night. Said he lost you on the cameras." I waited for him to respond, to tell me no, but I already knew it was true. He continued to zone out his eyes as he 'watched' the TV. I was sure he wasn't actually paying attention to the screen. "He said it might be a good idea for me to go through your things."

"Are you going to?" Sherlock asked bringing the cigarette to his lips and inhaling deeper than necessary.

"Only if its alright with you."

I did want to. I wanted Mycroft to be proved false.

What I didn't want was for Sherlock not to trust me. I wanted him to know about it and I wanted him to know I wasn't okay with it. I waited and waited for Sherlock to explode but he only nodded. I thought about confirming that as a yes but I didn't want the fight to happen.

I went through everything while Sherlock stayed smoking in his chair. It was much easier to move now that we had packed all the boxes away but that only caused more of a problem when it came to searching. There was much more to go through. I checked all the normal spots; sock drawer, couch cushions, shoe boxes, coats, scull. Nothing turned up there. I looked everywhere I could think of but of course Sherlock would be smarter than me anyway. When I finished and I had no where else to look I walked up to him and had to ask him to stand.

He glared at me but did as I asked and I ran my hands inside his pockets just to make sure. If I was him I would have moved it onto my person. I checked as he continued to glare but I came up with nothing. It was a bit of a relief but I knew it didn't mean much.

When I finished he curled back into himself on the chair and pointedly ignored me. I went to the kitchen and started to make us both dinner but couldn't continue with what I was making. I looked in our cabinet and pulled out something else instead.

About a half hour later and I was handing Sherlock a plate of his favorite; chocolate, chocolate chip, almond brownies. I placed the plate by his feet as he would still not look at me. I took a brownie for myself and watching him from the couch, pretending to look at my laptop. He looked down, scowled, looked back at the TV, then looked down again. He picked up the plate and started to nibble away and I smiled.

He continued to ignore me and didn't talk to me for hours but he let me squeeze his hand as I picked up the empty plate and brought it to the kitchen. I got ready to go to bed and started to head up until I heard him call out my name.

"John." I turned, relieved he wasn't going to give me the silent treatment completely.

"Yeah?"

"Lighter. Table." I looked behind him and sure enough there was his lighter resting on the corner, an arms length away.

I sighed.

He knew I didn't like to promote his smoking in any way. He was still trying to get back at me for either meeting with Mycroft or going through his stuff or both. I wasn't about to make the fight last though so I walked over and held out the lighter for him. He, being the complete ass he is, held out his head with a cigarette poised between his lips. I groaned internally but decided it was better than the alternative and swiped the ring to make it light.

He looked up at me, leaning back instead of into the lighter, and slowly reached out with a hand to take it from me. I looked down at him confused but he simply turned from me and took the cigarette out of his mouth.

I shook my head and went to bed, never knowing how that man's mind worked.

**Nine** and overall - Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Getting the boxes unpacked and the things put in their proper place was interesting in itself. Sort of. It was hard enough getting Sherlock to help. I had asked him multiple times for him sort out his things but he wouldn't listen to me. Around the second day I gave up and just started to do it myself.

"Sherlock do you think you could help?" I was currently trying to get his books back in order while he was flopped on the couch, not helping. My height was not an advantage. He had a lot of books and I was running out of shelves I could reach to put them on. I was sure I was doing it wrong anyway. He would just wait until I was finished to take them all down and put them in the right spots again.

"You seem to be doing just fine." I glared back at him and noticed his eyes weren't even open. I waited a few more moments but he was still frozen in his not-caring position.

"If you don't start helping, I'm going to start unloading them _on _you." It was better than throwing the book in my hand at him, which I was tempted to do. It was a large, scientific one. Very heavy.

"Shut up John, I'm thinking." He didn't even look over at me.

Well, I wasn't one to break a promise. I went over to a box I placed on the table and peaked inside. It looked like a bit of clothes and some nick knacks. Nothing that could hurt him. The man did bruise like a peach.

Everything dangerous was in a box labeled in the kitchen. _That _box I labeled. Why not all the others was just out of stupidity. Plus I didn't exactly expect to be unloading them again.

He continued to just lay there, off somewhere thinking about god knows what in his mind palace. I thought about threatening him again but if he was faking he would hear me coming.

He wasn't.

I dumped the box on top of him and covered his chest in miscellaneous papers, sticky notes, a random stress ball, scarves and a very familiar trench coat. I smiled at the latter two. I remembered packing them away. I didn't think they would have looked right on anyone else but him so I tucked them away in the boxes with the rest of his things.

I picked up the coat in my hands shaking the dust off of it and stopped fast.

_Sherlock was wearing this jacket just this morning. _

I turned to the hook on the door and found a very identical, if not the same, jacket resting in its place.

"Days. You couldn't wait days to get your coat. You had to get one _just_ like it?" I asked as I moved to hold the one in my hand to the one in the door. It looked exceptionally similar. There was even a loose strand on the left sleeve that matched the one in my hand. Sherlock had obviously made it himself. I turned back to him but he still had his eyes shut stuck in his mind. I shook my head at him and put the jacket back over his body. "You are so weird." I said as I swept the curls from his forehead and gave him a quick kiss in their place.

Then I proceeded to cover him in everything that wouldn't break if he suddenly stood up. I wasn't sure if he fell asleep or not but he didn't open his eyes the entire time.

Childish, yes. But it was very much so worth it when he opened his eyes and started freaking out.

"What the hell?!" Sherlock yelled and I just chuckled from my spot on the chair. It was hard for him to see me because I built a wall of books in front of the couch. I had to take some down that I had put up already but it was worth it. "John!"

"Yes Sherlock?" My innocent voice may not have been as strong as I wanted it to be.

"What the hell is this?!" He hopped up on the back of the couch so he could see me over the stack of his things. A few stick notes were stuck to his chest and I had to bite my cheek not to smile.

"Your things."

"Yes I know what they are! Now why are they on top of me?!"

"I unloaded them, now you get to put them away." I sounded like my mother when she helped me move in to University.

"I'm not going to." Sherlock pouted actually crossing his arms across his chest. He could be such a child.

"Well then you're not getting your phone back." His face fell into even more of a scowl.

"You've hidden it."

"Yes." I had, on my person. I was walking towards the bathroom as I answered him, set on taking a shower. That would give him some time to start. "And I'm not telling you where it is till you finish."

I really was a mom.

"I'll just figure out where it is." Sherlock said already looking about the flat

"I have no doubt but you'll have to start putting things away to find it." I left him with that and locked myself in the bathroom to shower. I had grabbed a plastic bag from the kitchen and shoved the phone inside, zipping it up, and brought it in the shower with me. Just in case he decided to pick the lock which I knew he was very capable of doing.

When I came out Sherlock actually had started to do what I asked as half the books were gone.

I could have swooned.

I didn't make it two steps out of the bathroom before he was there in front of me reaching a hand out and looking down at me expectantly. It seemed he did figure out where the phone was.

"I said after you finished."

"I'll just take it from you." Sherlock replied already looking towards the clothes in my arms where it was hidden.

"I'm stronger than you. I'll pin you down and you won't get it."

"You're in a towel. You won't fight me without clothes."

"Try me." I threatened, even though I was a bit nervous. There was a ten second pause where he just looked at me but he folded and returned to putting his books back.

"If there is any water damage, you are buying me a new one." I smirked at him and quickly got changed so I could help him.

I ended up caving and giving him the phone when I came down the stairs but he still continued to help.

Well, help might have been too strong a word.

He wasn't great help because he would find something of interest that he had forgotten about and decided to pour over it instead of waiting till after we were done. We did finish though, however long it took.

It was something I had to get used to again, his things being skewed about the apartment. For the longest time the apartment was practically bare and I was a clean person so the mess and clutter was kind of a shock. It was nice though. I felt surrounded in him again and I had to say I liked the feeling.

* * *

After the incident with Mycroft, and me searching Sherlock's things, I thought it would be tense, the withdrawal symptoms. I knew he said he would come to me but I was starting to worry if he would be too mad at me to continue.

I was wrong though. He let me know every time.

Every night that week he came into my bed after I had been asleep and would smoke his cigarettes. I didn't mind. I actually kind of liked the smell now. It meant he was there next to me and I would grab his hand and I would fall right back asleep.

He even texted me a few times when I was at work letting me know. I would call him as soon as I got the chance and he would make a fuss about how he was fine and how I didn't need to call and how it didn't matter because I couldn't see what he was doing over a phone call. I argued that it made me feel better and he would just have to put up with that. He argued that I was being too much of a naggy boyfriend. He was going to use that for everything now. Naggy boyfriend.

I was not naggy.

Overall he seemed like he was on the right path. I think the idea of living with Mycroft scared him. I even got him to eat more than two bites of his Chinese now. Still he mostly only drank water, but I had high hopes for him. We would fatten him up yet. Or at least deskeletonize him. It was just a matter of me reminding him to eat.

Okay fine.

Nagging him to eat.

I was his boyfriend after all.

And that itself was turning out to be better than expected. We didn't really talk about it, not needing to, and we still acted like ourselves, but some things did change.

Physically for instance. Now that we were partners I was no longer apprehensive about giving in to the urge to touch him. I didn't even realize how much I wanted to until it happened. How I ever resisted those sculpted cheekbones before...I'd never know.

Holding his hand and sleeping next to his side as he smoked was how it started. Then, during the daylight hours, when he was home playing his violin or watching the TV or off just thinking, I would find a reason to touch his shoulder or fix his hair or brush up against him as I handed him his tea. Every touch would send a new flip through my stomach and a slight blush to my face.

I had had the physicality with my delusions but I could tell the difference. Plus we weren't exactly up to cuddling just yet. We were both kind of easing into it. I was easing due to my sanity and new found homosexual tendencies and Sherlock, I was sure, was just trying to analyze it.

I was actually surprised by how much he was reciprocating. Sherlock was never one for physical contact by anyone and yet he didn't brush me aside ever. In fact he started things more often than I did. He read me like a book of course. Any time I even thought about touching him or sitting next to him he would be there at my side leaning into me or brushing his long fingers across my skin. Then my stomach flips would kick into overdrive and my face would turn a much darker red.

Once he waited for me to come out of the shower. I was walking out in nothing but a towel and about to head to my room when he came out of nowhere and ran both his hands up from the base of my back around my shoulders and spun me. I barely had time to react before his hands fell down my front. I tried to ask him what he was doing but as soon as I looked at him he had me stuck under his gaze, his fingertips grazing along the line of the ever-slipping towel. I found myself suddenly at a loss for words. Abruptly he stopped and whipped out a stack of something from his pocket and held it next to my face.

"Persimmon." He said with a nod before he walked away. I was left to stand there with my mouth open having no explanation given.

Once in a while, though we hadn't really explored it fully, he would kiss me. For no reason. I was glad he was the one doing it. I was too nervous to be the first to kiss him. It didn't seem like a big deal when Sherlock was kissing me but to go ahead and kiss him first… It was new to me. Even though we never really passed the PG stuff I was still nervous.

Though if he kept up those handsy sneak attacks, things would probably change fast.

There was no way I was not attracted to that man. How could anyone not be? That height, that face, those eyes... It had to be criminal. He should be putting himself away. It was getting easier and easier to lose my train of thought around him. My mind would be wondering off to much less decent places. I had been gone from him so long, gone from people so long. I missed certain aspects of dating and even just being around people. Certain tensions were building. If only I could get rid of my damn nerves.

That wasn't really it though was it?

I wasn't the sort of person to have nerves. Yeah, I could admit they were there a bit but I wasn't the sort to listen to them. Other things were at play here.

There was that feeling I kept trying to shove down that Sherlock would get bored of me. I had told myself over and over it wouldn't happen but the thought still crept about.

A part of me thought that if I gave in fully then I would be giving in completely. I saw what that did with my hallucinations. I saw the lack of control it gave me. I didn't want to lose control again. I didn't want to be let down again.

It was silly of me to think initiating a kiss could cause that.

I really didn't want to lose control though. I was glad I wasn't losing it. Before, I would leave work at a moment's notice to run after Sherlock and give him anything he needed. Now, I could control myself and let it wait until I got back home. If he texted me, I would call him, not run after him. Then again, that might have only been because there were no new cases. He needed one pretty badly.

I lost track of how many times he yelled about being bored.

As far as progressing our physical relationship, I decided it best to wait. I knew it was really the trust issues that were holding me back but I couldn't disregard them. Either time or a talk would get rid of them and I had made Sherlock talk about feelings enough that week. I could wait to fulfill the fantasies that started to crowd my mind. More and more.

I was patient.

Sherlock...was a different story.

* * *

That Friday I was at work finishing some paperwork in my office when something unprecedented happened. I heard a knock at the door and I called for them to come in. When I looked up I saw Sarah with her mouth open gaping over at me with a look of shock on her face.

"Sarah? Are you alright?" She nodded her head slowly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Um…Sherlock Holmes is...here to see you." She breathed out and opened the door more to reveal the lanky man smirking behind her. I smiled at the fact that I had guessed pretty close. She had seen a ghost.

"Come on in Sherlock." Sherlock slid in from behind her and she stared at him and back at me and him again. She seemed like she wanted to say something but didn't really know what. I knew the feeling. "Thank you Sarah." I said letting her know she could go and calm herself down. She nodded at me and left, closing the door.

I turned to the man in my office and put down my paperwork. This was very strange of him. He never visited my work. He usually just texted me, or called if he was desperate enough, and pulled me out. A tiny part of my mind was saying; _This isn't like him. Drugs?_

He was just standing there on the other side of my desk. He was scanning my office over, scanning me over. He looked a bit different. I would have said awkward but Sherlock was always awkward. That special kind of awkward that just made sense. He was fidgeting though. He never fidgeted.

Should I have been worried?

"Sherlock? Why are you here?"

"There are multiple facets to the reason I am here." He stated gruffly while he took particular interest in the clock on my wall. "One being you were not at the apartment."

"I have work." I spread out my arms to present the office that Sherlock well knew he was in.

I knew he would do that today. When I left that morning he was zoning out in his mind palace. Whenever he did that he always forgot where I was, when I left, or how long I was gone for.

"Obviously. Two being your boss would need to see me alive to explain your future absences. I didn't want her coming over to the flat so my visit seemed best." His attention shifted to the corner of my desk but he didn't really seem to be looking at it. "Three being I had a craving."

"And you couldn't just text me?" Not that I didn't mind his visit. But I was at work still. I had paperwork to finish up. He was the one who didn't want to make a big deal of his cocaine cravings.

He was looking at me strange. Still fidgeting.

It was weird that he said he had a craving because he wasn't smoking. Was he actually following the rules and not smoking in my place of work? That didn't seem like him.

Then his attention moved and he slid behind my desk over towards me. I looked up at him confused as I put down the work I had in my hand. He was acting so odd.

"Not that kind of craving." His eyes darted over me and I tried not to squirm under his stare. Tried, but was unsuccessful.

"What do you mean then? What kind of- mmph" My question was cut off as he leaned down, grabbed either arm rest of my chair and rolled my face into his. Unexpectedly his lips were running against mine, pulling and popping them out. I was a bit stunned at first, gripping the arms of the chair, but as soon as I registered Sherlock was kissing me, I let go of it and grabbed tight onto the edges of his jacket, pulling him down further. I tried to keep up with his fast pace, leaning up as far as I could, but then I felt the chair sink as his weight came down on it. He straddled me, fitting his skinny legs in between mine and the arms of the chair, while keeping up the attack on my mouth.

I let my hands drop from his lapels and tucked them in under his jacket wrapping my arms around his back underneath. His hands jumped from the arms of the chair to my chest and he slid them down my front, down to my waist. I groaned quietly into his mouth as his long fingers wrapped around my hip bones. I gripped his back tighter as I leaner further and slipped my tongue forward into his mouth. He bit down playfully on the tip of my tongue and chuckled when I pulled it away. I smiled right before his own tongue dove into my mouth running against the outside of my teeth. There was the smallest taste of cigarette lingering on his tongue but I didn't mind. I ran my tongue out to meet his and pushed it away as I snuck out and bit his bottom lip between my teeth. A low growl rumbled from the back of his throat and that noise only made me bite down harder as my hands traveled down on their own accord to rest on his narrow hips. His fingers wrapped deep in my hips more and I squeezed him back as we resumed attacking each other with our lips.

I found my back arching up off the chair, along with my hips, and moaned when I felt them hit Sherlock's. He had slid down with his legs poking through under the arms of the chair, in order to bring them down to mine. As soon as I moaned Sherlock started to move his lips faster and faster on mine, bobbing his head back and running his lips against mine. His teeth interchanged with each motion and the bobbing of his head made him move against me. I grunted each time he did and breathed out a, "Sherlock", right before we heard someone knock on the door.

Sherlock jumped right off me and stood behind my chair as I ran a hand over my hair and turned towards my desk. I cleared my throat and coughed before yelling out, "Come in."

Sarah poked her head through the door and looked over at the two of us. Her mouth was still a bit open and she looked a bit confused. She was staring directly at Sherlock.

"Sorry to interrupt," Did she know what she was interrupting?! "But I just had to see again." She went back to gaping at Sherlock. "I just can't believe he's alive."

"Yes. Well…" I really had no idea what to say. I was sure my face was completely red for what she had just interrupted. Did she know what we were doing? She didn't seem too embarrassed. What was Sherlock thinking right now? I wanted to turn around and see what he was doing but I didn't think that would look normal.

"Well I am alive and I must be going." Sherlock said from behind me with ease. I looked at him then and he had a small smile on his face. I was pretty shocked he was just going to leave after doing that! But then again what could we do here?

"John," He winked at me without Sarah seeing and flew out the door, nodding at her stunned face on the way out. I looked after him, kind of confused, and Sarah looked back at me. She looked like she wanted to do or say something but instead she just shut her mouth, nodded and closed the door.

I looked around my office for a moment trying to figure out exactly what just happened. Sherlock had come to my place of work because he had a craving. When I asked him what that craving was he basically attacked my body with his own. He kissed me. I kissed him back. I touched him, he straddled me.

That was basically a teenage make out session, interrupted by my boss.

Then Sherlock left and he winked at me. What did that wink mean? It was definitely suggestive. Did that mean we would pick up where we left off later? Did that mean there was more to come? Did I even want to do more? The uncomfortable pressure coming from my trousers told me I did. I was definitely turned on by the idea.

Oh god, Sherlock Holmes turned me on. That was such a strange thought. And I was just sitting there in my office smiling about it.

Screw what I was thinking earlier. Waiting? I was going take that wink and run with it.

* * *

When I got home that night, Sherlock was nowhere to be found. He wasn't anywhere in the flat. I thought he was probably off at St. Bart's so I texted him quick just to make sure. I wanted to shower before he got home.

_Are you out? – JW_

I made myself dinner and tried not to worry about it. He was a grown man, he could take care of himself.

It didn't mean every terrible thing didn't cross through my mind.

I pictured him; out on a case getting kidnapped, getting killed, chemical explosion at the lab, buying drugs, doing drugs, standing on the edge of a roof.

Then my phone pinged and I breathed out in relief.

_I'm obviously not in. – SH_

That asshole. I smiled at my phone.

_Well where are you? – JW_

_Out. I'll be back late. – SH_

I didn't like that answer. Normally he would just tell me where he was. Actually he would usually pull me there for no good reason, just whatever reason he happened to make up. There was a reason he wasn't telling me.

_What are you doing? – JW_

I didn't get a reply.

I didn't like this one bit. So he wasn't dead but he was doing something he knew I wouldn't like. The thought of him buying and doing drugs kept turning over in my mind. It was most likely what he was doing. He wouldn't want me to know he fell off the wagon.

I thought about what to do. I could call Mycroft to see if he was on the cameras but if Sherlock really wasn't doing what I was worried about then he wouldn't talk to me for a week. If he didn't tell me where he was then I couldn't exactly go find him though. I could call Lestrade and try to get him to track Sherlock's phone but it could have been nothing. It could have been Sherlock just doing something stupid that he didn't want me to know about and I would just be wasting Greg's time.

I paced around the apartment eating my dinner but still didn't feel any better. I didn't like being kept out of the loop. I thought he knew this by now.

_Drugs? – JW _

He knew what I was asking. It was always on my mind now. If he didn't answer I was going to start calling.

_No. – SH_

Alright he said no but that didn't make me feel better. How was I supposed to believe him?

Obviously not all my trust issues had been fixed.

I was thinking that a lot.

I put down the phone and took my antidepressant before turning on the television. I didn't need to worry. I was, but I didn't need to.

I started to think about what had happened in my office only a few hours ago. I obviously misread how this night was going to go. I was a little disappointed but also a little relieved. How could I push things further with Sherlock if I still didn't trust him?

I spent that night looking every few minutes at the door waiting for him to come in.

I wanted to scream at him, tell him he couldn't do this to me, tell him it wasn't fair. He couldn't leave me turning over every possible nightmare that I'd had again and again.

But he didn't come.

I stayed up late but he still wasn't there. So, I went to bed, tossed and turned for a long while and fell asleep.

With no one there at my side, the nightmares found their way back into my head. Old ones mixed with new, all circling around Sherlock. The worst of the lot was surprising to me. I never thought I could top watching Sherlock jump down to his concrete death.

I could.

I was back in the desert, clear blue sky allowing the sun to beat on my back. I knew there were wounded out there just beyond the next dune. I was the only one to help. The others didn't make it but there was still a chance for the ones up ahead. I ran, my feet slipping through the golden sand, faster and faster to get to the other side.

When I finally made it over I could see the destruction in front of me. Bodies laid down broken and bleeding in the aftermath. Gun shot after gun shot rang out from the men on both sides. I couldn't think about that though. I had to help the ones I could.

I knelt to the first body and searched the man's wrist. A feint pulse greeted me, giving me enough reason to try. I pushed the man's head in a proper position so he would breath something other than dust and froze.

It was Arthur. I knew this man. We had worked together for so long. He was a surgeon like me. He died from a mine explosion. What was he doing here? His eyes gently started to close before I could ask.

_No._

I checked for a pulse again but turned up with nothing. It didn't make sense. There wasn't an injury on him.

_"Arthur?"_

_"There's no point John." _A very familiar voice sounded from high above me. I looked up to see who it was and my panic returned full force.

_"Sherlock get down!" _I pulled on his coat sleeve until he fell next to my side and another round of bullets sounded off. _"What are you doing here?!"_ I scanned the area making sure no one saw how vulnerable the tall man by my side actually was.

_"It's fine John. I'm a soldier like you. See." _He spread out his arms to reveal his body decked out in armor and weaponry. I didn't know how I missed it before. I shook my head trying to back us up the hill of the dune to get to the safety of the other side.

_"You're not a soldier Sherlock. You shouldn't be here."_ He was making it very difficult to drag him up with me and every time I looked back the top seemed to get further and further away.

_"Nonsense. You don't get to have all the fun." _He pulled out a small handgun and shot it out into the distance. I looked for where he shot but saw nothing but blobs of black against the yellow ground. There was more gunfire and more bodies were falling. I had to get him to safety so I could get to them. We were almost there. Just a few more feet and we'd be over the top.

_"Get up Sherlock. Come on!" _I pulled and pulled, whipping my head at every noise made. _"You have to move!"_

_"You're too late John."  
_

_"What?" _I yelled without looking back.

_"You're too late."_ I turned to see Sherlock on his knees with a solemn grin on his face. His body jerked violently and his face momentarily turned to shock as his body started to fall forward. For the briefest moment I feared I had been hit in the chest with the impact of pain I felt there. Then I realized I hadn't been hit.

Sherlock had.

_"Sherlock!" _I yelled jumping forward to grab him in my arms. He twisted up towards me and the armor I had just seen him wearing disappeared to an all black suit with black silk button up underneath. I ran my hand down his front and collided with a damp spot that pulled away red. _"No." _ I searched frantically for the case I just had. It was a medical kit. It could help him. He needed help.

_"John." _ I stared back at Sherlock, his head rolling into my arms as he tried to keep his eyes open.

_"It's okay Sherlock. We're going to get you some help. You'll be okay." _I tried to keep pressure over the bullet wound but I could only feel more and more liquid pouring out. _"Help!" _I shouted back over my shoulder. The guns had stopped going off and I looked around but we weren't in the desert anymore. We were in an alley. It was an alley I didn't know but it felt so eerily familiar. _"Somebody!"__  
_

No one came running. I had the distinct feeling that we were alone. That nobody was around for miles and miles. We were the only ones.

_"John I have to leave now." _I felt Sherlock's hand touch my face and bring my eyes down to his as he laid in my arms. I shook my head violently grabbing his hand so it wouldn't fall from my cheek. My bloody hand slipped from his and I had to wipe it on my leg to re-grab his hand.

_"You're not leaving me. Not again." _I shook my head more trying to rid my eyes from the blur.

_"It's biology John." _He said smiling up at me. _"Even you know that." _I shook my head more trying to force myself to smile back at him but it only brought more water to blur my vision. I needed to see. I needed to see something that could help. Anything.

_"Look at the stars John. Aren't they magnificent?" _

I looked up as he did seeing for the first time the cluster upon cluster of massive amounts of shining stars in the sky, reflecting pale pinks and blues among the white and black. I looked down and nodded at him as he smiled again. Then slowly he got heavier and heavier in my arms. He head lolled against my arm again and his eyes closed shut.

_"Sherlock." _ I held his hand to my face again but it only slipped through. _"Sherlock?" _I wrapped both arms around his back and lifted him into my lap shaking him a bit. _"Sherlock?" _The burning tears started to fall from my eyes splashing invisibly on his black suit. _"Sherlock!" _

As I yelled light upon light came crashing down from the sky as star after star fell around us, cascading us in a downpour of bouncing reflective crystals. I looked up to be greeted by a pitch black sky. They had all fallen. All the stars had fallen.

I woke to be greeted by the pitch black ceiling above my bed.

I was in my room.

Sherlock was no where near.

I was alone.

* * *

When I woke up it was morning and he was still not in my room. I hadn't been woken up by him in the middle of the night smoking a cigarette like he had been doing all week. The only thing that woke me up last night was my mind. I shook it to clear it of all I had dreamed up.

I pushed out of bed and checked my phone but I didn't have any texts or calls. That was it. I was going to get dressed and I was going to find him and I was going to let him have it.

As soon as I came downstairs I found him in his chair zoning out in his mind palace like nothing was going on. Like I hadn't stayed up half the night worrying or like I hadn't woken fear stricken that he was off dying in an alley somewhere.

His hands were poised in front of his face and he was flicking them around. Sometimes to me it just looked like he had flies bothering him. I wondered what it actually looked like to him.

I stood in front of him with my arms crossed glaring down at him. He was still pushing things around in his mind and I cleared my throat. He didn't do anything. I could already feel the heat starting in my face. An imminent sign that I was going to be rightly pissed and screaming any moment.

"Sherlock." He didn't respond. "Sherlock." He still zoned out. "Sherlock." No response. "Sherlock bloody Homes!" I yelled down at him and he glared up at me.

"What?" He spat out angrily but I wasn't going to have any of his attitude.

"Where were you last night?"

"Out."

"Out? Out where?"

"Out of the apartment."

"For the love of god Sherlock, I don't have the patience for this. What were you doing?"

"Things."

"Things?"

"Yes, things John."

And we were back to the five-year-old attitude.

"What kind of things?"

"Things that don't involve you."

He would be the death of me.

"Sherlock stop. You know I don't want to be kept out of the loop like this, so tell me right now, what were you doing last night?"

He glared up at me before deciding on his answer. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't!" I refused to jump at his yelling. He was not helping my anger and I was boiling.

"Alright, what can't you tell me about?"

"I believe me telling you that would defeat the purpose of-"

"Tell me what you can then!"

He paused again looked up at me. I was about to yell at him again but he spoke just in time.

"I made a deal to stay here. I was doing _things_ to keep up my end of the deal."

"What kinds of things?"

"I told you, I can't tell you."

Things he can't tell me that have to do with his deal. Things he didn't want me to know about.

"So you went out with Victor?"

"If that makes you feel better, yes."

"No Sherlock, it doesn't make me feel better." I ran a hand over my mouth trying not to scream. "What were you doing with him?" It couldn't be anything good. I didn't trust that man in the slightest. There was something off about him. Too much confidence, it was bothersome. He didn't look at Sherlock right. I didn't like to picture ideas of whatever he was making Sherlock do.

Sherlock was leaning back in his chair now squinting up at me. I had minor thoughts of turning the chair over on him.

"It was nothing sexual." His said, his bitter tone replaced by his smug one.

"I wasn't thinking that!"

"Yes you were."

I barely was. But really in the state he left me in yesterday, it was a thought. Now the image started creeping back into my head. He really was not helping himself.

"Well then what were you doing? Why can't I know?"

"It is part of the deal John." He threw in a dramatic sigh just to show me how fed up with me he was. "I'm afraid you have to be in the dark on this in order for me to stay. That is all I can tell you." He shook his head and rolled his eyes adding, "If you want, next time I will let you know I am meeting him."

"Fine." I didn't like it but what was I going to do? It was better than running through that worry again. "When did you come in?"

"Two forty six."

Probably only minutes after I did finally fall asleep.

"Why didn't you come to my room?"

"I didn't have withdrawal symptoms." He scowled at me in that way that said '_you couldn't have said anything more stupid_'.

"I mean why didn't you come to my room to let me know you were back?"

"I told you I would be in late."

"That doesn't mean I wasn't worried." I sighed giving up trying to explain such things as manners to Sherlock Holmes. "Just, come in next time."

"Fine but I really don't see the point in-"

"Just, do as I say." I started to walk away to get ready for the day we had ahead. "And get ready. We still have to go shopping for your bed today before Harry comes."

I was still furious for most of the morning. I understood why he did what he did but that didn't mean I liked it. I found that true with a lot of the things he did.

When I got ready and I got him to eat a piece of toast we made our way to the mattress store. I wasn't really looking forward to it. I could just see Sherlock turning up his nose to every mattress in the place. I was paying for it though and I refused to get one special ordered. He barely slept anyway. He actually hadn't really slept all week that I knew of. He was always awake when he was in my bed and I only caught him sleeping on the couch that one time. It didn't mean he never did but I didn't see it.

He was just as annoying to shop with as I thought he would be. He would lay down on every mattress and point out how something was wrong with it. Always making it more complicated than it needed to be. He even started to go through and list every bone in the human back before I shut him up by finishing for him. I think he forgot I was a doctor sometimes.

So many sales associates tried to come over and help us. I told every one politely that we were fine as Sherlock would jump onto the next one and go through the issues. No need to waste the good people's time. Just mine.

Then we reached the memory foam section. I was hoping to avoid it because of the cost but if it would get this trip over with then I would be fine with it.

I tried to get him to look at one of the cheaper memory foam mattresses that had the memory foam top with the rest being a regular mattress but again he found something wrong with it. I rolled my eyes at him when he jumped onto the complete memory foam one, sprawling out and moaning about how this was perfect.

"Fine." I said with a grunt as I looked at the price. "But you don't need a queen size. You barely ever sleep anyway."

"Yes but when I do, I like to sleep like royalty. Besides, I might need the extra space." Then he winked at me and rolled over to a standing position. I gaped over at him as he walked to the sales counter.

What was that supposed to mean? Extra space? For me? Was that what that wink was? Why was he winking so much lately?

For a man who knew everything about signals, his were very confusing.

After Sherlock got his queen size mattress and I ordered the frame, the man said it would be delivered next day. I thanked him, though really I just wanted to reach across the register and pull some of my money back. I felt like I had been robbed.

"We might have to get Harry and Anna takeaway instead of take them out to dinner. I think my wallet has suffered all it can." I was only half joking.

"Nonsense. I'll pay." I looked over at him but didn't say anything. Maybe this was him trying to make up for last night. Although, knowing him, there was probably an ulterior motive. Apology dinners with no prompting didn't seem like him.

From there we moved on to buy some bedding. I ended up paying for that too.

He ended up getting black silk sheets and black silk pillowcases with a black and gray comforter to match. It was similar to the one he had before, minus the color, but just as expensive. As I looked at the remnants of my wallet, I just thought Sherlock better have been taking us to a damn good restaurant.

When we were back to the apartment we dumped the sheets in Sherlock's room and I pulled out my phone opening the text on the screen.

_Leaving soon. – Harry_

I responded with an _Okay_ before turning back to Sherlock.

"Where should I call for reservations?"

"Already taken care of." Sherlock said flopping over onto the couch.

When did he make reservations? I'd been with him all day.

"Are you going to tell me where?"

"No."

Alright then. "Well how are we to dress then?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Well I don't want to stick out."

"You already stick out."

"Hey-"

"Wear a jacket."

"Alright."

_Dress nice. – JW_

I added and sent that off to my sister.

_Okay…Should I ask where we're going? – Harry_

_Best not. – JW_

_Okay. See you soon. – Harry_

_See you soon. – JW_

I had been trying to decide how to best tell Harry about Sherlock being back. I knew she wasn't going to take it well. I would have to do it before we left for the restaurant. I didn't want her to make a scene.

"You better be nice to Harry and Anna." I tried to tell him but he was ignoring me as per usual.

"When am I ever not nice?" Well that was a bit sarcastic.

"Just no deducing or anything."

"I can't just turn it off. I'm not a light switch."

"I don't want them running off. And my sister likes this one so…you know. Don't be…you."

"I'll try."

I didn't really believe him but then again he wouldn't be Sherlock if he wasn't just a bit of an asshole. Not that it would make my job any easier.

_In cab to hotel. Will let you know when we're done checking in. – Harry_

"They'll be here soon." I yelled after coming out of the shower. Sherlock was over at the kitchen table tinkering around with a box. Upon closer inspection I could see the rounded curves of a new microscope. "Where'd that come from?"

"Internet. Mrs. Hudson brought it up." He wouldn't look up, he just kept twist nobs. There was no slide on there from what I saw. I didn't know what he was looking at. Then he popped up and ran out into the living room. I tried to catch up with him but as soon as I was in the living room he was running back into the kitchen with another box. I ran back after him, feeling a bit like a lost puppy, and saw him pulling out more equipment, including slides.

I was about to tell him to not make the flat too messy before they came but he cut me off.

"John give me your blood." He popped out of his chair and grabbed my arm bringing me closer to his set up.

"What? No!" I yanked my arms back and held both of them close to my body readying myself to run to my room if he tried again. I was showing far to much skin. I wouldn't put it past him to prick me.

"I need something to do and-"

"Well can that something not include bleeding me? Beside Harry will be here soon."

"Well they're not here yet and I need something to do till they are."

"Well then look at salt or something."

"Salt?!" Oh great, I offended him. "How old are we John?"

"Then use your own blood!"

He gave me an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes dramatically. "I can't use-"

"You know what?" I interrupted him. "Never mind. Just…I'm going to get dressed." I needed more protective layers.

I left him and went up the stairs to change into some dress clothes. I heard him calling after me so I jogged up the stairs faster.

As I finished I grabbed my gun and slipped it into the band of my dress pants. I figured it was best to be prepared. Sherlock had been out on his own before but I still liked the idea that I could protect him when I was with him. I never knew when the likes of Victor could show.

It didn't take me long to change and when I came back down the stairs I smelled the cigarette smoke. Sherlock was sitting in his chair pouting with a cigarette in his mouth. I rolled my eyes and walked over to him. He was dressed as he always was but that didn't mean he had to change. Those clothes looked good on him everywhere. Today it was a dark green silk button up hidden under his black jacket. It seemed to bring out a bit more green in his adorable puppy dog pouting eyes. He was just missing one key component.

"Come on Sherlock. You have to put shoes on."

"I don't want to." I wanted to laugh at him but I knew that wouldn't get us anywhere. I found it hard to believe he was that offended over it.

"Fine but your feet are going to freeze on the street." He continued to pout and ignore me.

I sighed and made my way to his room. If he wanted to act like a kid, then fine I would just put his shoes on for him.

I opened his bedroom door, checked for any booby traps, and went over to his sock drawer. I pulled out a pair I thought he wouldn't mind, not that he had a choice, and popped over to his closet. I pulled open the door, finding everything in their neat order, and bent down to grab his black shoes. As I lifted back up something caught my eye.

I hadn't really looked through Sherlock's new clothes. I had no reason to. They were very similar to the ones he owned before. What caught my eye was the shiny, dark purple color of a shirt hanging in the back.

I slowly reached back, afraid it would disappear in front of my eyes, and took the hanger off the rod. I pulled down the shirt and felt it with my fingers. It didn't dissolve into nothingness. It was real.

I had thought I'd left that upstairs. He must have brought it down at some point.

There was no reason for me to be upset.

It was his shirt after all.

But I was.

"Sherlock," I moved back into the living room and threw his shoes and socks towards his feet. He didn't look at me. "What's this?" I held up the shirt in my hands. The only acknowledgment that I surprised him was in the breath he held before he let the smoke escape his mouth.

"A shirt." He stopped ignoring me and looked over but his attitude did not suggest his mood was going to improve. Or mine.

"Yes I know it's a shirt." I breathed in deeply trying to not get upset. "Why do you have it?"

"It's my shirt."

"Yes I know it's your shirt." I snapped a bit. "Maybe I'm not making myself clear. Why did you take it out of my room?"

"I didn't want you to have it."

"And why was that?"

"What's the problem? It's not like you were going to wear it."

Always a chase. Always.

"Sherlock just…just tell me. Please."

"Because I wore it." His eyes left mine again and he focused on what must have been rather interesting on his jacket sleeve.

…I had no clue…

"Alright, you're going to have to help me here. I can't have it because _you wore it_?"

"They wore it."

_They_. That was just what we were calling the hallucinations now wasn't it?

"They did. That doesn't explain why you took it out of my room."

"It's not healthy to hold onto the past."

"I'm not holding onto the past. I hadn't even looked at it since-"

"You having it means you're holding onto it. You want to keep them."

"No. I don't. I don't want to keep them."

"Yes, you do. They were your versions. Your perfect little versions wrapped up in that shirt." He voice turned into a much more malevolent mockery than annoyance.

"Is that what this is about? Are you jealous?" Sherlock jealous of my hallucinations? He of all people should have understood that there was nothing to be jealous about. They weren't real! For God's sake they were not real. And Sherlock of all people couldn't be capable of such an emotion. He had to see there was no point in jealousy. Then again he did have that possessive streak. Jealousy was not something he needed to worry about though. Not with me. "Sherlock…I want you not them."

"Please." The mockery had not changed. "You loved them." He spit out each word in his normal disgusted manner. "They were me and more. They held your hand. They slept by your side. You had a relationship with them. They loved you. It's more than you expect from me."

"Sherlock," He was being beyond ridiculous. "I don't need that. I don't need the physical touches, the emotional availability. They loved me but I didn't love them. They just made me realize who I loved." I walked over to him tossing the shirt on my chair and kneeling in front of his. He still refused to look at me so I put a hand on his leg to remind him I was there. "Sherlock, I want you more than I want them."

His eyes darted questioningly over to me for a brief moment before he looked forwards again. "Then why are you upset I took the shirt?"

Logically I had no reason to be but, "Because…it was all I had of you." I realized as I spoke. "This and your violin were all I had."

"Well you have me now." He still sounded like he was pouting a bit.

"Not always." I wasn't going to fool myself again. He left before and while I knew he wanted to stay, he made a deal too and he could of left already if he didn't, there was no guarantee. He was right before when he said I made him out to be a hero. I told him I didn't but really I knew that I did. When your hero leaves you completely alone in the dark of the night, reality tends to settle in. "How do I know Sherlock?" I pushed off the ground and started pacing in front of the chair. "How do I know you won't just run off again? You ran off with Victor yesterday. I didn't know where you went, you wouldn't let me know. How do I know you won't leave me again? If you leave me I will really be left with nothing."

The reality of that statement started to settle in. After everything I had been through when he left and after everything I realized and after everything I felt when he came back, there was too much everything. When _everything_ revolves around a single object, a single person, and they leave, what is there to be left with but nothing?

"I promised I would let you know where I was if I left." I could feel his eyes follow me as I paced back and forth thinking.

"Yes but how do I know Sherlock? I trusted you and you left me." I was pacing back and forth and biting out harsh truths that would normally be tactfully stated. I was starting to remind myself of a certain someone.

"I'm not going to leave you."

"You say that but-" I was cut off from my words and my pacing as I felt a firm grip catch me on my arm.

"I'm not going to leave you because I can't." I stopped looking at his hand and found him glaring up at me as he stamped out his cigarette without looking. "I can't do that again." He stood up, leaning over me into my personal space, pulling me closer by my arm. "You can try. You can get so mad at me that you kick me out but I'm not going to leave. I stayed away from here because I couldn't see you. Because I would come back. That was exactly what happened. I came back and I'm staying for good. You're not the only one who realized something in my time away. I'm not going to leave you. _I. Can't_."

My eyes searched across his face looking for something to say. My breathing was quicker than I had realized, due to both anger and his proximity, the anger quickly depleting. I had to take a moment to think about what he said. He seemed to struggle so much with coming up with an answer. He would not normally accept _I can't. _There had to be a reason he chose those words. He was a man able to do everything. If he thought he couldn't do something, and he admitted to it, then he couldn't.

"What if you can't help it?" I asked quieter than I thought I would be. "What if someone takes you from me?" It was the nightmare that kept me up at night.

His arm shifted from my arm up to my shoulder, his other joined on the other side, holding me in place. He tipped his head further down making our eyes meet on the same level. I was almost lost in the swirling gray-blue while waiting for him to speak. Then his voice rang out even lower than its normal register.

"Then I will be comforted in knowing my best man hunted that bastard down and made them pay for taking me away from my blogger." Quickly he pulled me even closer slipping in a quick, brisk kiss before pulling back and forcing my eyes to meet him again. "I'm not going to leave you John."

I nodded back dumbly overwhelmed by how serious he was. I had no doubt in my mind. "Okay."

He check my eyes one more time before straightening up and glancing towards my chair. "You can have the shirt back if you want."

"No you can have it." It seemed silly now. "Just let me know if you're going to wear it. Alright?" I wouldn't want myself thinking he was one of them.

"Alright."

_Just checked into hotel. Getting cab now. – Harry_

* * *

Soon Harry and Anne came through the door. They were a very cute couple, decked out in their dresses. Anne seemed very nice, a bit shy, but she wasn't like many of my sister's exes. That was a good thing.

Sherlock was off hiding in his room, after I yelled at him to. Harry might not have known Sherlock but she knew what he looked like. She would know who he was. I had to prepare her.

"Hi John-John!" Harry yelled running over and giving me a hug. I was always annoyed when she called me that. It was a nickname from grade school years.

"Harriet." I said with a squeeze. She hated it when I called her that.

When she pulled away she glared at me and reached a hand back to call her girlfriend over. She was slightly timid about it but she grabbed Harry's hand and moved in from the doorway.

"This is Anne. Anne, this is my little brother John."

"Hello." Anne said with a shy wave as pieces of her bangs fell into her face.

"Hi Anne, it's nice to meet you." I nodded at her and she smiled back.

"Look at you, all dressed up." Harry punched me in the arm with her free hand. "Where are we going tonight?"

"I don't know." I said honestly. Harry cocked her head to the side, Anne just looked lost, and I sighed. "Actually there's something I have to tell you before we go. I don't know how –"

"Oh my god." Harry interrupted me. She was gaping over my shoulder and Anne was staring at her confused looking behind me, at me, then back at her.

"What?" Anne asked still looking at Harry.

I had quite a good idea as to what she was gaping looking at. He promised he would let me talk to them first.

"Harry, Anne." The voice behind me greeted. I swirled around to face him so he could see the look of annoyance on my face.

"Two minutes." I said. "You couldn't have waited two minutes."

Instead of answering me he full out pushed me aside and I stumbled back. When I regained my balance and prepared myself to yell at him, I could see just as Harry collided her fist with the side of his jaw and he too was caught stumbling back.

Shit.

I jumped forward and grabbed her by the wrists, pinning them behind her back.

"You bastard!" She yelled at Sherlock trying to rip away from my grip. She wasn't going anywhere though. She was known to be a bit feisty when she wanted to be, needing to defend herself a lot, but I was her brother and I knew what she would do. I had her locked down. He had regained his ground and was currently wiping a bit of blood from the side of his mouth. "You complete and utter arse! John let go of me!" She kept trying to break free of my grasp no matter how hard I held her. "I'm going to kill him!"

"What's going on?" The very confused and distraught Anne asked trying to understand. The poor girl had no idea what she was getting into.

"This bastard," Harry said stopping her struggling to look at Anne, "is supposed to be dead. What are you doing here?! John, tell me he's not staying here." Harry growled over her shoulder at me.

"Wait," Anne said. "_This_ is Sherlock?" She said pointing over at him looking even more confused than she had, if possible.

"Quite." Sherlock said without looking at her. He just kept staring down the struggling Harry.

"He is and he can explain alright?" I said, still not letting her go. "Just calm down alright. You can kill him later if you want." I knew to tell her to calm down completely wouldn't work. She wouldn't listen to me if I told her to play nice. I hoped the death threat would be enough.

She reluctantly nodded and I let her go. She turned towards me, rubbing her wrists a little and glared me down. "What is there to explain John? Does he know? About everything?"

I assumed she meant about the depression and hospital trip. That's all she knew about.

"Yes."

"And you're letting him stay here?" She was still yelling pointing a shaking finger back over at him.

"Yes."

"After everything he did to you?" She was rounding on me now, her fists clenched at her side.

"There's more to the story than –"

"He left you! He let you think he was dead! He nearly killed you! There is no more to that story that I need to hear."

This was going to be difficult.

It wasn't helping that I could see Sherlock looking over every inch of her. Thank God he wasn't saying any deductions out loud because that would only make it ten times worse. It probably wasn't helping that he was in the room.

"Sherlock would you please leave?" I gestured towards he hall, realizing I was a bit worked up myself.

"No. I'm not leaving you with that-"

"Now. Sherlock." I glared him down and he stared back at me. Anne was my savior though as she moved forward and put a gentle arm on his. He snapped his glare down at her but she only gestured towards the hall. He glared back at me but followed her.

With Harry and myself left alone I could round on her. This was not a conversation that would be had civilly. I could see that now. "Would you rather I was dead? Because that's what would have happened. It was either me or him and Sherlock chose himself."

She scoffed at me crossing her arms over her chest. "But he didn't really now did he?"

"That's not the-"

"Is that what he told you?" She cut me off, never allowing her glare to cease. "Do you have any proof that he's not lying to you? That he didn't just make that up so you wouldn't be mad at him?"

"Believe me, I'm plenty mad." Or at least I was. "And he's not lying. I know he's not."

"Not now, but what happens when he leaves again?"

"He's not going to leave again."

"Really? What's stopping him?"

"He can't."

"Can't?" I should have known that excuse wouldn't work on her. She didn't see him when he said it. "John, you saying he can't won't stop him. He'll leave you. You can't go through that again."

"He can't because he cares." I lowered my voice and checked the hall to make sure he wasn't listening. "I know it doesn't seem like it. If I were you, I'd be saying the same things, but he does. I know him."

"Do you really? You didn't know he wasn't dead." Touche. But I knew different. "How long has he been back for now?"

I shook my head at her. "A week."

"A week?" Her arms fell to her side as she rolled her head in exasperation. "Only a week and you just know he won't leave again. Because he cares." She was not buying that. From what I had told her about him before, it wasn't a shock. "Has he even said he's sorry?"

"Sherlock doesn't really say sorry." That was a weak argument. He did say he was sorry that he couldn't stop what he had to do. "He has apologized." It wasn't quite an apology for not letting me know and for leaving me for so long but I knew he was sorry.

"I can't accept that. I can't accept this man controlling you so much. You can't let him do this to you." I bounced back to the last time she said something like that. Months ago in this very room. The first time I whipped a version of him up.

"He's not doing anything. I'm not going to kick him out Harry. You don't even know him. Just try to get to know him before you hate him." Which would probably happen anyway.

"I don't need to get to know him. I know what he did. I can hate him for that."

"Okay fine, hate him. But realize I can't." I breathed out tired of arguing. She wasn't going to budge but she had to at least see I couldn't let him go. "Harry, I can't. I just got him back, I can't let him go again."

"Why do you care for him so much?" She stopped yelling as well. "How can you?"

I couldn't tell her I loved him. I couldn't tell her how my heart skipped a beat whenever he entered the room. I couldn't tell her how I always wanted to be by his side no matter where we were. How a part of me hated every second there was distance between us. How I wanted him to ignore what I said and be by my side even now. How I couldn't lose him again. How he was everything.

How did I make her understand? She had been in love once. Hell, she was still in love with Clara. She had to understand if it was even remotely similar.

"Do you know remember what mom said?"

"What?" She was very taken aback by my question.

"What she said." I looked over at her, trying to recall exactly how to say what it was ringing around in my ears. "People try. They hold onto each other, trying. What they don't realize is that no matter how hard you hold onto a person, no matter how hard you try, you can hurt them. No one can prevent that. Those closest to you hurt you the most. And all that people can do is _try_ to forgive them. If people stopped trying, they'd be left alone with no one. We take the good with the bad because it's the way we live. It's the only way to live. So we try."

Harry blinked rapidly trying to hide the pain from her memories. "That's what she said about the divorce."

I nodded at her, unsure if I should continue. Bringing up her divorce with Clara was probably something she had not expected. She did not expect me to compare her to Sherlock. I knew how badly the divorces went. How Clara had tried to forgive Harry again and again but just broke.

Harry cleared her throat trying to get a hold of herself before she spoke again. "She also said that sometimes trying isn't enough."

"But we still have to."

"This isn't a divorce John."

"The concepts the same Harry."

"Fine." She sighed rubbing her face with her hands and straightening herself out. "If you actually care that much, I won't kill him. Tonight." She added for good measure. "I'll hear him out but I still don't like this."

"You'll still come to dinner with us?" I asked hopefully. I really didn't want to waste her visit. Or Anne's either.

"I'm not going to play nice." She said finally smiling.

"I wouldn't expect you to. Just no punching, yes?"

"We'll see."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't thank me yet. Thank mom. Does she know?"

"She actually doesn't even know he was gone in the first place." I still felt a bit guilty about that. I never mentioned it in our emails.

"John?!"

"I didn't want to worry her about me."

She scoffed at me but the smile on her face told me she wasn't actually mad.

Sherlock and Anne came out of the bathroom, right on cue, without needing be told.

"Shall we go?" Sherlock asked clasping his hands together and walking towards the door as if he had not just been punched in the face.

Sherlock hailed a cab for all of us and had the driver take us to Launceston Place. I hadn't been there so I didn't really know what to expect. The cab ride was pretty awkward. Harry was glaring at Sherlock while he was playing indifferent. Anne was making circles on Harry's hand, trying to calm her down, and I was trying to find out what I should do. No one was talking.

When we got out of the cab and into the restaurant, I was very glad I dressed nice. This was definitely not a place that would take anyone just wearing a jumper.

Everything was sleek and dimly lit. It didn't seem that big of a place. There were tables lined against walls and some scattered about in the middle, to challenge the waiters and waitresses I guessed. The walls were dark with some nice looking paintings and pictures. It was definitely a fancy place.

At least the girls looked like they fit right in. They were looking about, probably coming to the same conclusions I was. I still felt out of place, even if I was wearing a nice black blazer and one of my nicer jumpers. I never felt very comfortable in places like this.

I was afraid to ask how much this was going to cost. Even if I wasn't paying. Could Sherlock even afford this?

"Name?" The woman asked from behind her host counter.

"Mycroft Holmes for four." Sherlock said and I glared daggers at his back from where I was standing. Of course he wasn't going to be paying himself. He was going to dump the check on Mycroft.

As much as I didn't like Sherlock doing something like that, it wasn't the worst person to dump a check on.

We were led to a table in the back corner and were given _a Market Menu _each. One look at the bottom of the page and I could feel the blood rush from my body. Mycroft was in for one big surprise.

"John," Harry nudged me from under the table. "Do you want us to chip in? Are you sure we should eat here?"

"I'm not paying." I said shaking my head. I still didn't feel quite comfortable, and the idea of eating somewhere else was tempting, but I didn't want Sherlock to complain and start another fight. "He is." I said tilting my head towards Sherlock.

Well, he was sort of paying.

"Oh," Harry said looking over at Sherlock to confirm. He was too busy pretending to read his menu. "Well in that case, I can't wait." Harry said smiling over at her menu. Anne looked as worried as I was that the two of them were going to cause a scene. We shared our worried glances and went back to our menus.

I read through everything as someone new filled our water glasses. This wasn't the kind of place I frequented and the food sounded odd to me. I was sure it would be in small portions and I'd probably be hungry after. I hadn't eaten because I wasn't sure where we had been going. Now I kind of wished I had a little something.

What the hell was _Glazed pigs cheek_? Was that really a pig's cheek?

I ignored that one and decided on summer salad. Salads were a safe bet. That and the pork for main. There wasn't anything weird you could do to a pork. Right? Then I still had dessert to decide on. I wasn't sure if they were going to take all three at once. I hadn't really done this before. The custard sounded absolutely wonderful.

I looked over at Sherlock and he didn't seem to be doing anything. He was still looking at his menu but I knew he wasn't reading. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes more than 30 seconds to look over something and know what it said. Maybe he was trying to find a way to restrain himself and do what I asked and be nice to our two guests and not start another round of boxing.

His lip had been cleaned up in the time I had talked to Harry and I could see just how red it was starting to get. No doubt he would have a giant bruise by morning. He was going to use that cut lip as an excuse not to eat, I could see it coming. I wanted to reach out and examine it more closely, really just to reach out and make sure he was okay, but I didn't think the public behavior would be well received.

The waitress came over and took all of our orders, Sherlock's was last. And as per usual, Sherlock went beyond all expectations and in the worst way possible. Just before the waitress was about to finish Sherlock stopped and added; "Oh and can we get a bottle of 2005 _Meursault_ for the table please."

The waitress smiled and nodded before leaving. I glared at Sherlock. We had all been avoiding the wine menu. It was still there in the middle of the table, untouched. It was kind of an unspoken thing with Harry being around and trying to be sober. This, of all, was not the night to test and see how she was doing. Sherlock knew that.

Even just looking at the wine book from the outside, I could see there was a very long list of options. How he knew what kind he wanted wasn't just him guessing to see if they had it. Sherlock rarely drank and he never did something on accident. Something about that bottle was bothering me. Like I should know it from somewhere.

I picked up the wine menu and thumbed through until I found the section listing it off. It was a bottle under the _France _section listed at 108 pounds. It was a bottle of _Domaine Pierre Morey. _I knew that bottle. It was Harry's favorite. She and Clara had tasted some on a vacation to France for an anniversary. This was not an accident.

"Sherlock," I threw the menu back down on the table and glared at him. He was indifferent but I knew he knew I was mad. "A word?" I pushed my chair back against the ground waiting for him to follow me.

"John, its fine." Harry said obviously still mad at Sherlock, now for a new reason, but she was worried about what I was going to do. She had seen firsthand what I did to people who were mean to her. Specifically in high school with the bigoted homophobes who would tease. That was until I came into the picture.

I didn't think even she understood exactly how far Sherlock went. She probably just thought I was mad because Sherlock ordered alcohol with her around. She probably didn't understand exactly how deliberate he was.

"Now." I said pushing off the table and walking towards the men's room. I didn't care if it looked odd. I didn't want to cause a seen. I just needed to give him a piece of my mind. I didn't look back to see if he was following but a few moments after being in the bathroom he came in after me. There was no one else in the bathroom with us and I turned to face him straightening myself for battle.

"What do you think you're doing?" I asked, trying to keep my clenched fists from shaking.

"I'm not allowed to order wine?"

"Oh by all means Sherlock order any wine you like but not that one. You did that on purpose. Now I don't know how you deduced it or if I told you or whatever but it doesn't matter. You are going to find that waitress and you are going to tell her to cancel that order."

He was rolling his shoulders as if he didn't know why I was so upset. "As a recovering alcoholic your sister should learn to deal with the presence of such things."

"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it."

"She broke my violin!" He suddenly yelled in a hushed voice keeping our argument in the room. "And she tried to break my jaw!" He pointed at the swollen side of his face.

"That was well deserved and the violin is fixed." He wasn't even around when she did that.

"It doesn't matter that it's fixed now. It matters that-"

"I don't want to hear it. It's childish and it's going to stop. I asked you to be nice to them and you're not, so I'm telling you now. You are going to go out there, you are going to cancel the wine, we are going to have a lovely dinner, and you are going to be nice to my sister and her date. If not," I straightened up even further and walked into Sherlock's personal space for a change. It was time to make use of the captain voice, since it was already out. "I swear to you, I will handcuff you to your new bed and I will burn out every last one of your cigarettes as I make you watch." I glared up into his eyes making sure he wasn't missing a bit of what I was saying. "Is that clear?"

I could feel Sherlock want to challenge me as he eyes swept over me. He was looking for something to tell him I was lying.

I wasn't.

I saw just as that recognition set in and he deflated by the smallest bit.

"I said, is that clear?" I asked again pointedly waiting for a response.

"I can get out of handcuffs." Was his eloquent response. He probably could too.

He just couldn't do what I asked could he?

"I'll be more creative then." I said waiting for his next quip. Instead, he seemed to have been transfixed on my mouth as he leaned down towards it. If I didn't know any better, I would have said he was fighting the urge to kiss me. I waited to see what was going to happen.

"Fine." He grumbled just before his lips would have met mine. He swiveled around and stomped out of the bathroom and I was left staring at the door with a smile. Not quite the 'Sir, yes, sir' I was used to but it seemed my captain voice could indeed work on Sherlock Holmes.

Now that he was gone I looked around and suddenly remembered the last time Sherlock and I had been in a public restroom together. It didn't quite go the same way, did it?

When I sat back down at the table I brushed off the curious glances from the ladies and waited until Sherlock came back and slumped into his seat. He looked over at me with a short glare, telling me he did what I asked, before looking back over at the girls.

"So Harry, Anne, how did you two meet?" He asked with a very fake smile. He looked over at me and I just smiled back. At least he was trying. Even if I knew it was killing him inside.

After that things got a bit better. Harry and Sherlock stopped staring daggers across the table and the conversation moved forward. I could tell Sherlock wasn't exactly pleased with it entirely but he kept his mouth shut. I gave him reassuring smiles every time he looked at me. My leg brushed his more than once under the table. It seemed I would find every excuse to touch him. He didn't seem to mind and in fact he started to secretly reciprocate.

Anne, once she started speaking, actually had a lot of stories to tell. It seemed many interesting things happened with her being a vet. She joked that her scars were always a great conversation started. It was actually how she did meet my sister. Overall, she had my approval.

Dinner was done and Harry finished off her extra course, hoping to make Sherlock pay more. I could have told her it wasn't actually going to matter to him but then again I thought it best to let her just get her fix in. We stood outside the restaurant and waited as we called the girls a taxi.

"I'm sorry you two met like this." I peeked back at Harry and Sherlock. I didn't think it would have mattered. I never pictured the two of them getting along particularly well.

"Right." Harry said ignoring me and glaring at Sherlock who spoke up.

"If you'll excuse us John, I believe your sister wants to have a word alone with me." Sherlock nodded at me before walking past Harry and off to the side out of our hearing range. Harry rolled her eyes as he walked past but followed him nonetheless.

It turned back to Anne who had the look resembling a mother watching her children eat grass.

"Should I be worried?" I asked Anne in a semi-teasing tone.

Anne shook her head with a smile. "I'm sure she won't do anything too terrible."

"Define too terrible." I joked and she laughed. We both looked back at the two. Harry seemed to be the one doing most of the talking but I couldn't make out what she was saying. Sherlock was just staring back, stoic and unreadable as ever. I knew Harry could be terrifying when she wanted to be. Sherlock was probably just hiding his fear. If he had any. I could never picture him actually scared. My Sherlock wasn't scared of anything.

"You know he's sorry."

"Sorry?" I asked as Anne's voice pulled me out of my staring.

"He cares about you. I know Harry is afraid he'll hurt you again, and I don't really know either of you so I can't tell you what I think, but I do know he cares."

"Thanks." I said genuinely. Knowing someone who didn't know Sherlock acknowledging he could care really meant something. I knew he did but it was reassuring to hear it.

Soon Harry and Sherlock came back. I gave him a questioning look but he wasn't really looking at me. If he saw, he ignored me so I looked back at Harry. She gave me a big smile, a hug, and a good bye before climbing into the cab and driving off to her hotel room.

I turned back to Sherlock to ask her what she said but he cut me off before I could.

"Chinese?" He asked me with a slight shrug making his coat flout out as his hands moved in his pockets.

"Sure." I said deciding to let it go. I really could use the extra food. The food was great but the sizes were a bit small for me. Sherlock ate a bit but maybe I could make him eat more Chinese. Sherlock was actually asking for it. He wasn't complaining about my sister or the evening, he was just asking to be fed. That was the best thing he could have done for me.

That night, something even more unexpected happened.

We had just gotten home after eating our Chinese and I was ready to just go straight to bed. Sherlock grabbed my wrist before I could go up the stairs and pulled me back down.

"Wha-?" I was cut off as his arms wrapped around me and pulled me into a hug. I smiled at the surprise and wrapped mine back around him listening to the thumping of his heart near my ear. It was minutes before he said anything.

"I'm so sorry John." He spoke into the top of my head as his lips jumped across my hair with kisses.

"I know." I squeezed him back laying a kiss down on his chest and grabbing him close again. "I know."


	20. Chapter 20

**AN:** Thank you for the reviews! (They're yelling at me for trying to put more than one exclamation point.)

So I would like to apologize now for my grammar. If you haven't noticed, it has only been going downhill since I started school. Normally I would edit a lot more but you know. I promise one day I will go back and make verb confusion my bitch. One day.

And Yes! the prospect of seeing Misha Collins and all other Supernatural peeps did make my life sucking and all the stress seem less apocalyptic. It was an amazing convention and I wish I had more money so I could have stayed longer. If you want to know about it, I will be happy to fill you in on what they're like. So much fun.

One thing at the convention was an auction. I really wished I had money. In one package they auctioned off an autographed photo of Zachary Quinto and an autographed photo of Benedict for Start Trek. I wanted to cry because it went for $380. Damn rich people.

And humbug to homework. It's dull. (Don't worry, I'm a good student really.) But really, it is dull.

I have senioritis.

I hate college!

Moving on...

**Three chapters in one day?! :0  
**They will be posted in a couple hours, all of them.

I had midterms this week and I felt bad for leaving you hanging (even though my chapters just keep getting longer). I promise, it is getting good. Trust me ;)

* * *

**Sherlock POV**

* * *

_Getting bored of saying bored. New word needed._

The case was too easy. In fact I should have had it solved in half the time.

I blamed John. He was distracting.

The things I did do, did not fill my time nearly enough.

I did use the tools I bought to hide away the cocaine. And the book.

Unfortunately my guilt did not dissipate when it was hidden away. It helped me forget though. So I did.

Except when John did the look-through of all my things. I expected it at some point. From Mycroft really but still I expected it. The fact that he used John to do it was just so typical of him. When I saw that John really was sorry about it though, I let it go.

I had other things to worry about.

I was no where near closer to finding out what Brine did to John. I was beginning to think it was all a trick to get inside my head. Some futile attempt to throw me off. I had thought about asking Victor. He was a direct source to the higher ups of the criminal world but I didn't want them involved with John. I didn't particularly like Victor either.

I didn't particularly like people.

I had my theory about John's pills but I wouldn't have my equipment until the end of the week. He didn't listen to me when I asked him to stop taking them. Though he was not taking them every day anymore. Almost every day but he was contemplating getting rid of them.

Prominently my week was filled with experiments.

I played around with the belladonna a bit more, frustrated that it took me so long to figure out what it was in the first place. Then I played with whatever I felt like.

_Tammy_ still decided it was alright to come into my lab. It was as if she enjoyed seeing what new flaw I could point out in her every time I saw her. She was just a waste of space in the room.

While John was away I did a sweep of the apartment for bugs and cameras. I found two in the living room, one in the kitchen, one in my bedroom, and one in John's. I didn't care to find out who left them. They were all to be destroyed anyway.

My main experiment of the week was John.

The shift in the status of our relationship brought out his affectionate side, more than normal. He probably didn't even notice how he was acting different.

Firstly there was the attention to detail about his appearance. The first clue was his showers being off schedule. Then there was the checking in mirrors more often than usual. Then there was the aftershave. John didn't wear aftershave unless he was going on a date. He was putting it on every day.

Secondly there was the random staring. John normally had a tendency to stare at me but that was usually when I was doing something interesting or we were arguing and he was trying to intimidate me. He had started doing it at much more confusing times.

Thirdly was the unpacking incident where John thought it would be a good idea to unload everything I owned on top of me. I was counting that as odd. He should have known better. Taking my phone into the shower with him. As if I couldn't see the plastic bag from where I stood. Oh, I was going to get him back when he least expected it.

Fourthly was the unintentional physical contact. At first it was unintentional. Then it increased to a point where it had to be on purpose. Apparently John believed with the increased status of our relationship came the ability to touch me more. Surprisingly I didn't mind. I didn't understand why I didn't mind. That lead to research.

I understood physicality, I understood the chemistry and biology behind it. I didn't understand how people would go about it without analyzing it in that way. I was sure John wasn't thinking about my adrenaline when he passed me my afternoon tea.

At first in my experimenting, I copied John's actions at random intervals and increased the level of his reactions. It became easier and easier to tell what John was thinking about when he looked at me. He was less likely to know what I was doing when his mind was drifting off in a daydream.

John's left forearm and right knee were especially ticklish. Touching his chest brought about a very interesting result. He would instantly lose whatever thought he had and his face would turn a light shade of red, as I was learning would come with any sense of arousal. He was especially more distracted the lower my hand was on his body. There was a particular area on his lower spine where a drag of my nail would cause him to actually stumble in the place he stood. It was rather amusing.

Combining these actions with a simple kiss would multiply the effect of these actions exponentially. Increasing the complexity of the kiss also multiplied the effect. Soon I realized that even proximity would play a factor in his reaction.

Subtly I had begun rating his reaction based on the shade of red his face would turn and the rate at which his heart would speed. The color would fluctuate from initial arousal to the effects it caused to the limbo after.

I combined my most successful elements; surprise, lack of clothes (using John's new habit of changing in his bedroom to my advantage), proximity, touch, and placement, for a time when John was getting out of the shower. It was by far the most successful attempt but also brought about a new string of questions for me to solve.

The main question being; why was I reacting this way?

I usually had such good control over myself and my bodily actions and reactions. This was an experiment to test the physicality of our relationship. I was meant to stay unbiased in this experiment. It seemed that was failing.

I was having certain...reactions. Unforeseen and ultimately a distraction themselves.

It was common knowledge that part of a relationship would entail helping the other person with their...reactions...but I was not done understanding. I was not knowledgeable in that field, past the basics. John was knowledgeable. I couldn't let our bodies lead us to something that John knew more about than me.

This lead me to do more research.

Lucky for me, the internet is full of very visually descriptive videos to help sort through what others in similar situations do. The videos were not as horrendous to sit through as I thought, at first. Then my mind started to wonder towards what would happen if I replaced the persons in the video with John and myself. With my mind, it was all too realistic.

My mind was a sacred, organized space. It was not meant to lead me to painfully distracting scenarios. I didn't really know what to do about it. The thoughts weren't easily going away. All I was thinking about was John and that he should somehow be involved. Help. Somehow. I just knew I wanted him there. Needed him there. He would know.

I called out for him but he didn't answer me. His tea was half drunk on the counter and cold, a sure sign he was at work as he was in the habit of leaving tea when he was running late in the morning.

I had considered letting it all go and concentrating on a different experiment instead but my mind would always circle back to those thoughts. I couldn't wait for John to come home. I had to see if these thoughts would go away if he was near. If I gave my body the proximity it wanted, would I be able to concentrate again. Would this buzzing under my skin disappear?

I hopped in a cab and thought of an excuse for visiting on the way.

I would have taken pride in the look on Sarah's face when she saw me walk into the office but I was still too distracted to care. I knew John was just a door away and I needed him.

Now.

I would have just barged into his office if I knew where his office was. I could find out soon enough but there was no need for me to look in on patients. It would probably result in John loosing his job. Not that it wouldn't be beneficial. I didn't really know why he kept it. I had enough money to pay rent. He really didn't need to work. We wouldn't be having these problems if he didn't.

Sarah was taking forever to open the damn door. Really, why knock if you know who's in there?

"Um...Sherlock Holmes is...here to see you." Finally she opened the door. And there John was. Stack of paperwork in hand, pen dangling from his lips, casually leaning back, even with the shock his boss was projecting into the room.

"Come on in Sherlock."

_Oh. Right. Walk._

I had been too distracted by the pen in his mouth. I didn't know why. It shouldn't be distracting.

The door clicked behind me. I could see John's confusion. He was trying to hide it but it was obvious what he was thinking. He had to of known I was there for an unprecedented reason. All other reasons from before would have resulted in his leaving by now. Of course I knew the drugs were always on his mind. For good reason.

They were always one mine.

I didn't let that guilt settle in though. There was no room for it.

I was filled by the heat just under my skin, tightness in my abdomen, distracting thoughts that couldn't be controlled, and the insistent need to let my imagination take over as I let my eyes roam John's body behind the desk.

I tried to peel my eyes away. I didn't want John to know what I was doing. I didn't even know really. His presence wasn't making that feeling go away.

"Sherlock? Why are you here?"

_Predictable question. _

"There are multiple facets to the reason I am here. One being you were not at the apartment."

_And I needed to see you._

"I have work."

"Obviously." I could not focus on anything in his office. Normally I would have known every bit of what happened in there that day, let alone the entire year. Instead I was stuck looking at nonexistent spots. I wasn't even sure where. I just let my eyes land on something. "Two being your boss would need to see me alive to explain your future absences. I didn't want her coming over to the flat so my visit seemed best." It was the excuse I had thought of in the cab. I expected to use it and leave and everything would be fine after seeing John but it wasn't. Then my third reason just kind of slipped. "Three being I had a craving."

I never slipped.

What I said was true. There was some sort of craving there. Something I knew the cause of but wasn't sure how to fix it. This was some kind of heat tugging at me. Not the craving I was used to. It wasn't as unpleasant as the crawling of the bugs. Still distracting.

John was supposed to be helping. He helped with the other cravings.

"And you couldn't just text me?"

Of course he jumped to the drugs. Or maybe he knew.

Was this a thing to text about?

John wouldn't think of that. He would go with the obvious. Drugs.

My eyes jumped back over to him and things got even foggier. I hadn't the slightest idea why this was having such a powerful impact on me. I knew when my body was taking over but it seemed almost like it was drugging me. I couldn't even tell what was my body and what was my own drive. I found myself inching closer to John. Each step brought about more of the existence of the light heat on my skin and pull in my stomach. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have associated it with the red color palette I used on John.

He set his paperwork down and pulled the pen from his mouth. My eyes automatically pulled to that spot, sliding back down, creeping around the visible skin from under his lab coat around his neck.

"Not that kind of craving."

"What do you mean then?" His lips jumped about when he spoke. His tongue became fleetingly visible when he said the word _then_. "What kind of- mmph-" I didn't even care to listen to what he was asking. Everything was just growing so much and before I could make any sense of it I had just fell forward.

Fell was not the right word. I forcefully leaned into him. I swear I was just checking if proximity was going to play a factor on my end of this craving. My body did the falling.

It was all very overwhelming.

Clips of videos from the morning popped through my mind, only this time, I was a part of it. John was there under me, in his chair, pulling me down. My heart ramped up and the heat that was slowly simmering just under my skin completely bombarded me all at once. Everything was pulling me this way and that, internally, everything was pulling me towards John.

_Hot..._

_Need..._

It wasn't helping. The feeling I had wasn't going away, it was getting worse.

It wasn't a bad worse though.

It was making it more but driving me more. John's participation only added to this feeling. I couldn't push it more fast enough.

_John..._

_Need..._

I couldn't think a single coherent thing. The more I tried the less came forward. It all was too distracting. I just knew there was something. Something more.

_Need..._

_Closer..._

I vaguely remembered seeing the chair as I entered the room. John was in a chair. In order to get closer like my mind was chanting, I was going to utilize what I had.

_Hands on back..._

_John's..._

_John likes hands._

My hands flew up to the spots I had found rather promising on his chest from the experiments before. The optimal place to place my hands was of course at his waist. That was obvious with the towel experiment.

_Groan..._

_John's groan..._

Apparently that was what worked for John because he was matching my pace, finally. As the sounds came out of his mouth I could feel something inside me kick this craving even further. I wanted more of that. I needed more of that.

He tried to take over the kiss, letting his tongue slip forward. I was having none of that. This was my kiss.

_John chuckled..._

That sound was much like the groan in my reaction; unexpectedly motivating.

I let John reach forward with his teeth as they latched onto my lower lip, only barely. I growled to let him know that wasn't going to last long. He only bit down harder. Another bout of adrenaline coursed through me and I felt his hands fall to the sides of my hips, reminding me where mine lay. I squeezed down pulling him forward more.

_Closer..._

There was something in the way! I was pulling him as close as I could and still something wasn't clicking!

Then John arched up his back, rocking our hips together and I understood. Without needing to think I was already lowering myself down to make us close once again. Everything started building, that feeling was reaching something, I didn't know what, that heat was traveling, and it all seemed to make sense.

_Closer..._

_Table..._

_Lift..._

I was mere seconds away from pulling John out of the chair as he breathed out what both sounded like my name and the reason to take him right there, when the door made a sound.

_Knocking. _

_Door. _

_Someone at door. _

I jumped off of John as soon as I realized someone was about to walk in. Standing behind John's chair, I could feel the adrenaline the interruption caused reassemble my thinking patterns.

_John's office. _

_Knock at John's door. _

_At work, work related. _

_Doesn't know what just happened. _

_**Idiot** interrupting. _

Sarah looked in through the door with her mouth open, clearly confused still. It was the same look she gave me when she saw me walking towards the front desk. _  
_

"Sorry to interrupt, but I just had to see again. I just can't believe he's alive."

_Couldn't believe what you saw so you have to ruin the moment. Moron. _

"Yes. Well..." John was at a loss for words. A quick glance down and I could see he was a whole new shade of dark red. If only I had my palette with me. Embarrassment would be a nice comparison.

Well it was obvious that things were not going to continue with Sarah about. Besides, most of that craving had disappeared. There was still a bit of that feeling left, like it was just so close to being gone, but it would have to wait. John had to finish his work, for whatever reason, and I had more research to do on the computer.

"Well I am alive and I must be going." I walked out towards the door and winked at John with a call of his name. I knew how the human body worked, and I saw how his body reacted from my angle above him. This was not a subject he would leave for the day. He would want to talk about it when he got home. Talking being the short term event. The wink was to let him know I was open to the other. And to leave him something to think about all day.

He was sure to obsess.

I wasn't even listening to Sarah talking to me. I vaguely remember hearing her voice as I walked outside but I didn't turn back.

The computer at home was open to the last sight I had been on. I popped clicked on a new site when my phone chimed for a text.

_**Hand in Hand. 6 Crooked Billet. Mr. Segreto. - V**_

It was from Victor. That could only mean one thing; it was starting.

_Segreto, Italian for secret. _

Both a warning and a reminder.

I would hate Italy by the time I was done with these people.

If I ever was.

I just hoped John wouldn't check his browser history while I was away.

* * *

John's texts brought me back to the reality that waited for me at home. No doubt he was properly confused but he couldn't know what I was doing. I couldn't let him know.

**_Are you out? - JW_**

**_I'm obviously not in. - SH_**

**_Well where are you? - JW_**

**_Out. I'll be back late. - SH_**

I thought that would be enough.

**_What are you doing? - JW_**

I should have known better.

_**Drugs? - JW**_

_Always the drugs.  
_

**_No. - SH  
_**

_Something worse._

* * *

John came down the stairs.

_Bloodshot eyes. Dark circles. Small limp. _

_Nightmares._

_Clenched fists. Squinting brow. Back straight. _

_Mad. _

I ignored him again as I was sure he was going to ignore me. I needed to think of an explanation that wouldn't be lying that wouldn't cause more guilt to show up than I already had. Nothing seemed to fit. Nothing was right.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes!" Apparently he had been yelling my name if he was to that level.

"What?" He was interrupting my thoughts. I was just onto something too. Something to get me out of this.

"Where were you last night?"

"Out." We had been over this in our texts.

"Out? Out where?"

"Out of the apartment."

_"_For the love of god Sherlock, I don't have the patience for this. What were you doing?"

"Things."

"Things?"

"Yes, things John."

If only he had given me 5 more minutes I could have had a better answer than that. Something that wouldn't follow up with the question I knew was coming.

_"_What kind of things?"

"Things that don't involve you."

"Sherlock stop. You know I don't want to be kept out of the loop like this, so tell me right now, what were you doing last night?"

I looked up at him trying to decide what to tell him. He didn't really want to know what I was doing. At least he wouldn't want to, if he knew what it was. He wouldn't accept that it didn't involve him.

And he had to just go and throw in that he didn't like being kept out of the loop. Another guilt trip for the boyfriend to ride. Well even if he thought he wanted to know, he couldn't know. It wasn't allowed.

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't!"

Why wouldn't he just let it be?!

"Alright, what can't you tell me about?"

Seriously. A child would know that that was the wrong question to ask.

"I believe me telling you that would defeat the purpose of-"

"Tell me what you can then!"

How to tell him without letting him know?

I had to think fast.

_Out, he knows. _

_With? Vague details could be given. Will lead to why. _

_Why? Knows about deal. Doesn't need to know the rest. _

"I made a deal to stay here. I was doing things to keep up my end of the deal."

"What kinds of things?"

"I told you, I can't tell you."

_I won't tell you. _

"So you went out with Victor?"

_Good question. Vague answer._

"If that makes you feel better, yes."

"No Sherlock, it doesn't make me feel better." _I believe that's called sarcasm John_. "What were you doing with him?"

_With him. _

_John's thoughts turn to worst, leads to nightmares. _

_Drugs first thought. _

_Knows not drugs. _

_Physical distress from..._

_Ah. Physical._

_John's worried I used him psychically to lead up to someone else. _

_How can he think that?_

"It was nothing sexual."

"I wasn't thinking that!"

"Yes you were."

"Well then what were you doing?" _No denial. Insecure._ "Why can't I know?"

"It is part of the deal John."

_Not a complete lie._

I sighed. There was no way I wasn't going to have to push the boundaries here. "I'm afraid you have to be in the dark on this in order for me to stay. That is all I can tell you. If you want, next time I will let you know I am meeting him."

I didn't like the idea but really it was a last option. It was one I had thought of when I came in the night before but I didn't like it. I didn't want John to know how many times I had to do what I was doing.

"Fine. When did you come in?"

"Two forty six."

_Like I said.  
_

"Why didn't you come to my room?"

"I didn't have withdrawal symptoms."

Did he not realize there were no cigarette butts lying around? He was so unobservant.

"I mean why didn't you come to my room to let me know you were back?"

"I told you I would be in late."

"That doesn't mean I wasn't worried." He sighed out loud and I saw his leg twitch again.

_Worried. Nightmares. Leg twitch. _

_Nightmares about me_.

"Just, come in next time." He said, letting the guilt at his nightmares do its job.

I shouldn't have been the one to cause nightmares. I was the thing that drove them away. His journal even told me that I brought him comfort in that aspect, real or not. I should have been there, with my violin maybe, like he wrote about.

Of course I knew that keeping John's nightmares away by sitting next to him when he slept would be a waste of time. But wasn't that why I was there every night already?

The one night I am gone and he goes and screws it all up by being worried.

"Fine but I really don't see the point in-"

"Just, do as I say. And get ready. We still have to go shopping for your bed today before Harry comes."

_Bed. Harry. Saturday. _

_Damn._

I had forgotten.

I wasn't going to tell John that though. He was still showing signs of anger and drank three cups of tea instead of one. He also didn't try and shove breakfast down my throat. He was satisfied with only one piece of toast. Much less than normal.

Definitely not the morning to bother him.

* * *

Everything in his body language said he didn't want to be there shopping with me. I don't know why he volunteered to come. He could have just given me his card.

A bed is a long term commitment. I had to chose the right one. Bad mood John or not I was going to get it.

Many of the beds were just wrong. They advertized lumbar support but that was just a joke. I was trying to explain to John how the overly-plush pillow tops were no good for the back when he interrupted me to finish naming the bones in the human back. I was about to explain that he just helped me prove my point when another associate came over to help us.

It was the third of the day. For some reason they all wondered towards us. I assumed they worked for commission.

_Natural redhead. _

_Stained teeth, stained fingers. Smoker. _

_Tattoo on wrist. Rose. Faded greatly. Old. No other visible tattoos. Probably bad teen decision. _

_Scratches under right arm. Cat scratches. One cat, needs to be declawed. _

_Dress clothes. Newly bought. Makeup matches. Likes her job. _

_Who would like this job?_

"Thank you, we're alright." John was answering whatever question she asked.

"Just let me know if you need anything." She smiled and looked at me.

_Looked me up and down. Looked at bed. Small smile. Pushes away hair with left hand. No ring. Flirting. _

_Boring. _

Memory foam was always the way to go. I could have saved us a lot of time if John wasn't so cheap. Or if he didn't get rid of my bed in the first place.

"Fine. But you don't need a queen size. You barely ever sleep anyway."

"Yes but when I do, I like to sleep like royalty. Besides, I might need the extra space." I winked at him and made my way to the sales counter to let them know I was done. They seemed a bit relieved actually and the redhead was more than willing to check me out. Her face fell as soon as she saw John come over to pay for it.

I meant that wink for exactly what it seemed like. It was a way to get John out of his bad mood in actuality. I knew he wouldn't be very helpful when Harry came if he didn't get over being mad at me. He had no reason to be. I just reminded him that he could feel other things for me.

Besides, who would not want to try out a memory foam bed?

In addition, I happened to see the redhead sales lady looking at me. No harm in pushing the fact that I was taken, without explicitly spelling it out for her. When John came up to the counter she excused herself and another man took over the sale. Stupid to give into her jealousy if they got paid commission.

"We might have to get Harry and Anna takeaway instead of take them out to dinner. I think my wallet has suffered all it can."

Yes John was in a better mood if he was trying to make a pathetic joke. I didn't really expect him to pay for dinner though. I knew how far his money could go and the dinner probably wouldn't even happen, having heard about Harry through the tidbits John told me about. I didn't see it getting all that way. Not that I wouldn't leave the option open. John would want it.

"Nonsense. I'll pay."

Or something close to that.

* * *

When we reached the flat I was trying to decide what to do with the time I had left before Harry arrived. I already knew the meeting wouldn't go in the cheery version John surely imagined. John was a fighter and his sister was a lesbian, fight for her right to love, alcoholic who yelled at John and tried to destroy my violin.

I hadn't forgotten.

This evening wasn't going to end very well.

I couldn't start a new physical experiment on John with such little time left. And no memory foam bed.

Besides, he needed no reminder of the previous night.

Keeping the imminent fight in mind I tried to chose a location to take them all to eat. Mycroft's name would get us into a lot of places. After the fight Harry would want to be taken somewhere expensive, John would want something nice, and I would just want it over with.

_Close, expensive, nice._

___Launceston Place_

"Where should I call for reservations?"

"Already taken care of." I jumped on the couch, deciding to rest my body. I hadn't slept the night before

"Are you going to tell me where?"

"No."

John would have vetoed the place because of the money.

"Well how are we to dress then?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Well I don't want to stick out."

"You already stick out."

"Hey-"

He is short and stands next to a man almost a foot taller than him. Of course he's going to stick out. Also the jumpers. Though I was getting sick of pointing those out. He knew.

"Wear a jacket."

Covers the patterns.

"Alright."

He didn't sound too thrilled about that. Did he even own a jacket?

I heard the clicking of his phone as he probably texted his sister about the evening. I was already dozing off when I heard him speak again.

"You better be nice to Harry and Anna."

_Anna? Girlfriend. Right. _

_Harry, violin smasher._

"When am I ever not nice?"

I heard him sigh audibly again. Perhaps that would be the next experiment. How many times to get John to sigh out loud before he snaps?

"Just no deducing or anything."

"I can't just turn it off. I'm not a light switch."

"I don't want them running off. And my sister likes this one so…you know. Don't be…you."

_Don't be me. Please._

"I'll try."

* * *

At some point my nap was interrupted by a knock at the door. I groaned and turned to tell whoever it was to go away but Mrs. Hudson was standing there with a box in her hand.

"Sherlock, there's a package here for you!" She called as she walked in and placed it on the table.

_Package? Microscope. _

_Equipment!_

I jumped up from the couch, glad I finally would have something to do and I wouldn't have to go back to St. Bart's, and _Tammy_, all for a bloody microscope.

"There's more boxes downstairs. Shall I get them for you?" Mrs. Hudson was already inching back towards the door.

"No. Thank you Mrs. Hudson. I'll get them."

It took me a bit to put together all the pieces and sort through the new beakers and test tubes. I didn't even hear John come out of the shower.

"Where'd that come from?"

"Internet. Mrs. Hudson brought it up." I was adjusting the light source underneath. I was nearing completion and just needed something to look at. All my projects were at the hospital. I was comparing a couple of poisons and their effect on the white blood cells.

I went to snatch a new slide from the box I left in the living room, unable to avoid seeing John there in just a towel. My thoughts wandered but that didn't prevent me from seeing the heat from the shower hadn't worn off and the pink pools of blood could be seen at the surface of his skin.

_John's blood. _

_Poison. _

_Connor Brine. _

_Check John's blood!_

"John give me your blood."

"What? No!"

He pulled away from me. The big baby.

It was just a little blood!

He couldn't know why though. I told him a half truth.

"I need something to do and-"

"Well can that something not include bleeding me? Beside Harry will be here soon."

"Well they're not here yet and I need something to do till they are."

"Well then look at salt or something."

_Salt._

"Salt?! How old are we John?"

"Then use your own blood!"

_Obvious answers John. Obvious answers. _

"I can't use-"

"You know what? Never mind. Just…I'm going to get dressed."

He left and I tried to call him back but he walked up faster.

Didn't he see this was for his own good? He couldn't give me one drop of blood?

He would yell at me and guilt trip me all day because I made him worry but he wouldn't do one little thing to stop me from worrying? For all I knew there was a poison in him right now, eating him from the inside out but he wouldn't know because he wouldn't prick a finger.

I grabbed a cigarette and threw my self in my chair. There was no point in playing with my equipment anymore. No point to the whole night if John was just going to die.

An army doctor afraid of a bit of blood. It was laughable.

"Come on Sherlock. You have to put shoes on."

John was wearing one of his nicer, less obnoxious jumpers under a black blazer. Apparently he did own a nice jacket.

_Attractive._

The thought sprung up before I could stop it.

I could see the bulge from his gun poking out from his dress pants.

_Overprotective._

"I don't want to."

"Fine but your feet are going to freeze on the street."

_Freeze on the street._

_Doesn't matter. You're just going to kill yourself. _

He left and went into my room. It wouldn't matter even if he did bring me my shoes. I wasn't leaving until I knew if he was poisoned or not.

I would have to get blood from him without him knowing.

Well if the fight with Harry really did turn physical, like I assumed, maybe it wouldn't be so hard. I would just have to make sure not to mix his blood with someone else. If they even landed a punch on him. I wasn't about to let that happened.

Maybe if John was sleeping he wouldn't feel it.

"Sherlock," John's tone was edgy. I felt more than saw him throw the shoes he found and a black pair of my socks towards my chair. Something happened. John wasn't happy and it wasn't something I said. "What's this?"

I peaked over at him from over my cigarette and saw the purple shirt he had kept while I was away. I did not expect him to find that. I really should have put it in the hideaway. John wasn't happy that I had it. I took it days ago though. Took him long enough to notice.

"A shirt."

"Yes I know it's a shirt. Why do you have it?"

"It's my shirt."

I could see my answers were not having a calming effect. He did not want the simple truth.

"Yes I know it's your shirt. Maybe I'm not making myself clear. Why did you take it out of my room?"

"I didn't want you to have it."

I wasn't being calm at this point either. It really was just a shirt. The fact that he cared so much only proved that I needed to have taken it.

"And why was that?"

"What's the problem? It's not like you were going to wear it."

"Sherlock just…just tell me. Please."

The dreaded and defeated expression on John's face was what broke me. The fight from the morning, about how he didn't want to be left out of the loop, was repeating in my mind. He wouldn't be happy if I just left the conversation completely. He deserved an answer.

"Because I wore it."

There. He had his answer.

I didn't want to see how he felt about it. I instead brought my eyes down to a bit of cigarette ash on my sleeve.

"Alright, you're going to have to help me here. I can't have it because you wore it?"

_Come on John. Common sense._

"They wore it." I elaborated anyway.

"They did." _Good you get it._ "That doesn't explain why you took it out of my room."

_You don't get it._

"It's not healthy to hold onto the past." His therapist had to tell him that at some point. John didn't need to hold onto his delusions. He needed to give it up. All of it. The prescription too.

"I'm not holding onto the past. I hadn't even looked at it since-"

"You having it means you're holding onto it. You want to keep them."

"No. I don't. I don't want to keep them."

_Lie. _

_Your mind makes it up, your mind wants it. _

"Yes, you do. They were your versions. Your perfect little versions wrapped up in that shirt."

"Is that what this is about? Are you jealous?"

_Jealous. Please. _

I didn't get jealous over imaginary things.

"Sherlock…I want you not them."

_Lie._

"Please. You loved them." It said so in his journal. He admitted it to me when he thought I was one of them. It was obvious. "They were me and more. They held your hand. They slept by your side. You had a relationship with them. They loved you. It's more than you expect from me."

"Sherlock, I don't need that. I don't need the physical touches, the emotional availability. They loved me but I didn't love them. They just made me realize who I loved. Sherlock, I want you more than I want them."

I felt his hand on my leg and I looked over to realize he was kneeling before my chair.

_How?_

How could John not love them? It was the only thing that made sense. If he didn't love them, he wouldn't keep them around and try and bring them back again and again. He said it was me but it wasn't really me. How could he love me if he hadn't even seen me in months? How could he love me now? I changed. I turned back into what I was before him and then coming back to him I was caught between the two.

If he really wanted to be with me, he wouldn't hold onto his past.

"Then why are you upset I took the shirt?"

"Because…it was all I had of you. This and your violin were all I had."

"Well you have me now."

_So you don't need them._

"Not always. How do I know Sherlock?" I felt him push off my leg and he started pacing. He never paced. "How do I know you won't just run off again? You ran off with Victor yesterday. I didn't know where you went, you wouldn't let me know." _Guilt trip. _"How do I know you won't leave me again? If you leave me, I will really be left with nothing."

I was listening to John talk but only grew increasingly worried. I would decide how to stop him from trying to make me feel guilty later. I needed to concentrate on calming him down, stop the pacing. Pacing was never good with him.

"I promised I would let you know where I was if I left."

"Yes but how do I know Sherlock? I trusted you and you left me."

"I'm not going to leave you."

He had to know that by now.

"You say that but-" I reached out and stopped his walking. This pacing was just getting too out of hand. He was working himself up too much. His anxiety levels were nearing dangerous.

"I'm not going to leave you because I can't." I stomped out my cigarette and made sure John wouldn't get lost in that panic again. "I can't do that again." I stood and pulled him closer, making sure he wouldn't go anywhere. I would just have to try and elaborate. "You can try. You can get so mad at me that you kick me out but I'm not going to leave. I stayed away from here because I couldn't see you. Because I would come back. That was exactly what happened. I came back and I'm staying for good. You're not the only one who realized something in my time away. I'm not going to leave you." I squeezed his arms in my hands one more time really trying to get him to listen to what I was saying. "I. Can't."

It worked. It took him a moment to catch up but I could tell when he did. He finally started to veer off his panic attack.

"What if you can't help it? What if someone takes you from me?"

_Leg twitch. Nightmares._

I pulled him even closer, leaning down to his level to make sure every bit of what I was thinking sunk in. He had to know he couldn't worry like this. It wasn't good for anyone. If he was always worried I'd go off running or leave, then there was no point in bringing him anywhere. He had to understand that wasn't going to happen. Even if someone got the luckiest shot in the world and did manage to kill me, I wasn't leaving him.

"Then I will be comforted in knowing my best man hunted that bastard down and made them pay for taking me away from my blogger." The kiss that followed seemed justified. "I'm not going to leave you John."

He nodded back at me slowly. "Okay."

I looked him over, content with his current psychological state, and moved back to my chair. The shine from the shirt caught my eye. "You can have the shirt back if you want."

"No you can have it. Just let me know if you're going to wear it. Alright?"

"Alright."

That would have to be one special occasion.

* * *

John was making me wait in my bedroom while he tried to explain to his sister that I was still alive. I tried to explain to him that it didn't matter. She would still react the same way but he wasn't having any of it. He shuffled me off and closed the door in my face.

I opened it back up and I could hear when they entered.

_Heels_. _Two pairs._

"Hi John-John!"

_John-John. Pathetic nickname. _

_Doesn't mention cigarette smoke? _

_Old habit of John or doesn't want to cause scene?  
_

_Probably latter with recent girlfriend in tow. _

"Harriet."

_Good. I bet she hates that.  
_

"This is Anne. Anne, this is my little brother John."

"Hello."

"Hi Anne, it's nice to meet you."

_Blah, blah, blah. Move on!_

"Look at you, all dressed up. Where are we going tonight?"

"I don't know." I was getting sick of waiting. The faster she saw the faster we could move on with the events of the night. I walked out of the bedroom and prepared to analyze. "Actually there's something I have to tell you before we go. I don't know how –"

"Oh my god." Harry interrupted John, gaping over at me. Easy enough to make out who she was based on photos from John and the fact that she recognized me.

_Firm stance, hair brushed, clear eyes. Sober. _

_Fists clenched, face red, nose scrunched. Furious. Holding back. Watch for sudden movements.  
_

"What?"

_Girlfriend. _

_Confused, doesn't know my face. _

_Multiple scratches and bite marks. All animal. Works with animals for living. Farm or vet. Too many bites for farm. Veterinarian. _

_Also sober. _

"Harry, Anne." I greeted them, though really I was just waiting until Harry made a move. I could see her wanting to, physically biting on her cheek to keep in check. I didn't look directly but I could see John swivel around to face me.

"Two minutes. You couldn't have waited two minutes."

As soon as John was turned all the way around I could see the extra taught pull in Harry's right arm, the movement of her leg. She was going to punch. John was in the way.

So I pushed him, just in time too. If she had hit John by accident, things really would have taken a different turn.

Instead she got me square in the jaw. If I hadn't been occupied with getting John out of the way I could have deflected or even had her aim for a better, less harmful spot. Instead she got teeth and lip in all.

John reacted quickly after he regained his balance. She was rearing her fist back for another punch, something I saw coming, when he grabbed her wrists and pinned them behind her body. She was struggling hard.

"You bastard! You complete and utter arse! John let go of me! I'm going to kill him!"

It was nothing I hadn't expected.

"What's going on?" Anne asked obviously not accustomed to physical violence.

_Wide eyes, covers arms over vital organs, head lowered slightly, step back. Abuse as child probable. _

"This bastard," Harry said stopping her struggling to look at Anne, "is supposed to be dead. What are you doing here?! John, tell me he's not staying here."

"Wait, this is Sherlock?"

_So she had heard of me._

"Quite." I answered, continuing my gaze at Harry. She had stopped struggling which meant John could be lowering his guard, which meant she was bound to jump any moment.

"He is and he can explain alright? Just calm down alright. You can kill him later if you want."

_Thanks John. Let her know she has permission._

Still he let the wild child go. She didn't attack right away but I could see she wanted to. I kept my body ready to jump. "What is there to explain John? Does he know? About everything?"

_Everything?_

_How much does she know?_

_Only hospital trip. May have mentioned therapy or antidepressants. _

_Not hallucinations. _

"Yes."

"And you're letting him stay here?"

She was talking about me as if I wasn't even in the room.

"Yes."

"After everything he did to you?" She was moving towards John, her fists clenched at her side. I was extra ready to jump in and stop her from hitting John, though I doubted she would try that.

_Heels, balance easily taken. _

_Hair down, easy to pull. _

_No permanent harm allowed. _

"There's more to the story than –"

"He left you! He let you think he was dead! He nearly killed you! There is no more to that story that I need to hear."

"Sherlock would you please leave?" John asked gesturing towards my bedroom again.

_Leave?_

Was he really going to try and lock me in my room again?

What if Harry tried to attack him?

"No. I'm not leaving you with that-"

"Now. Sherlock."

Did he not understand he was in physical danger of that woman? Sure they were siblings but some murders were only caused by a sudden spark of built up rage. What if she hit him and I felt that rage?

I, admittedly, jumped when Anne's hand fell on my arm. I had been geared up for a fight. I didn't expect it. Her face read that she knew what was best in this situation. As an abuse victim, perhaps she was right. I followed.

I would be able to listen better from the bathroom though.

I walked in and sat on the floor next to the door when Anne walked in after me and shut it behind her. I ignored her as she sat on the wall next to mine. As long as she didn't talk we would be fine.

"Would you rather I was dead?" John's muffled voice barely came through the door. "Because that's what would have happened. It was either me or him and Sherlock chose himself."

"But he didn't really now did he?" I could barely make out what she was saying.

"That's not the-"

"Is that what he told you? Do you have any proof that he's not lying to you?" I reached for the door to open it a crack and get their voices better. "That he didn't just make that up so you wouldn't be mad at him?"

"Believe me, I'm plenty mad. And he's not lying. I know he's not."

The door abruptly closed again and I saw Anne leaning against it, pinning it there.

"Move." I growled quietly at her. She looked over at me and shook her head.

"Harry will never forgive you if she knows you're eavesdropping." I stared her down but it didn't seem she was willing to let the door go. She kept looking up at me with those kind eyes and a small smile started to form on her face. "He'll be alright you know. She's not going to hurt him. Besides, he's a soldier. He can take care of himself."

How did she knew that was what I was worried about?

Perhaps she wasn't as stupid as I thought she would be.

"Doesn't mean I can't listen."

"Oh no mister. You are in enough trouble as it is." I ignored her and pressed my ear up against the door.

"I can't accept that. I can't-" Harry's muffled voice was cut off when I felt a hand whip across my leg.

_She slapped me?!_

"What did I just say? You really are a handful aren't you?" Anne moved herself over the full length of the door, spreading her body out, pushing me away and making it even more difficult to hear. I glared at her again but apparently the woman was immune. "So Sherlock Holmes," she continued with an air of innocence. "You are not dead."

"Evidently not." I crossed my legs and sat across from her trying to see if I could make out any words. Nothing was coming through.

"And you came back for John." I looked her over again, trying to understand what made her draw that conclusion. It wasn't something obvious. I could have come back for anything. "And you are not leaving."

She was saying the most peculiar things. Most strangers would not feel the need to point it out.

"And you are not asking."

"No I am not." She said with that same smile as before. She jumped off the ground, keeping a close eye on me, and came back with a wet cloth in her hand that she applied to the forming bruise on my jaw.

_First Aid care. _

_Gentle touch. _

_Sibling who suffered with her? _

"Have you heard about Harry's high school days?"

That was a random change of subject. Probably not all that random.

"I've pieced it together."

I assumed I had. Probably lots of fights, as predicted, introduction to alcohol, parties, drugs, all of which led to her present situation.

"I've pieced it together too." Why was she telling me this? Did she think I would care for some reason? "She used to be the sweetest girl until the world screwed her over. Until she had to defend herself every day in fight after fight." She flipped the cloth on my face and I reached up to take it but she refused to pull away. "Until she got kicked out of school after school. John got kicked out of one, almost out of a few, defending her."

"John got kicked out of school?" He never admitted that before. That would be a fun fact to hold over his head. Captain Watson wasn't always army material.

Anne smiled and laughed a bit out loud. "Sure did. John was always there for her. Now she's just trying to repay him."

"By punching me in the jaw." I reached up again and she let me grab the cloth from her and she sat back against the door, preemptive to the attempt I was about to make.

"I never said it was the right way. She's trying. I'm sure he is too." She paused and pushed herself up on the door more so she could lean into my vision better. I had been concentrating on the gap under the frame. "Why did you come back Sherlock?"

I paused at that question as more muffled tones, from John, came through the door. Much too hard to make out.

She was asking a very complicated question she didn't need to know the answer to. She already answered it really. Why was she so curious?

"Because you didn't want to hurt him anymore or yourself?"

Oh.

That was a different answer.

She saw my face fall and continued without my response.

"You came back to stop your own pain, but why did you _stay_?" _John_. "To stop his." She spoke as if she read my mind. "You only want what's best for him. So stop feeling guilty about that. It's pathetic how guilty you look. Harry is just too mad to see it. You have to stop though or nothing is going to be right."

Was I really that obvious?

"You don't understand." I shook my head at her refusing to believe what she said. She didn't know everything. "There is more to it than me simply coming back."

"Oh I believed there would be. But do you really need to feel guilty about doing what is best for John?"

I didn't answer. She might have had a point.

I didn't like what I was doing but it really all was for John. He wouldn't like it either but it was all for him.

A few more muffled words came through the door but it seemed they were no longer yelling. In fact we could hear Harry' laughing.

"That's our cue." Anne pushed up off the ground and opened the door for me where I promptly threw the cloth away and walked into the room ready to forget the conversation I just had until a later time.

"Shall we go?" I asked leading them all towards the door and out to a taxi.

This night was going to be dreadful and I knew it. Whatever John said to Harry to get her to come wasn't helping the violent thoughts crossing her mind. I could see her eyes the place she punched on my chin and her thoughts were drifting off from there. Anne wasn't helping despite her tries. And I had to act _nice_ because of John.

He should have let her just yell and go home. We didn't need to sit through dinner too.

Mycroft's name did the trick and we made our way into the dreaded place. We were going to be stuck there for at least an hour. I didn't see why John didn't suggest just leaving. He was obviously uncomfortable. Everyone was. Why go through with it?

As we walked back to our table I gazed over at the bottles of wine lining the wall. Nothing seemed important about it until I ran over the label reading _Domaine Pierre Morey. _It stuck out to me and I had to quickly dive into my thoughts to figure out why.

It wasn't something I would remember unless it was important to a case or to John. I hadn't recalled any case that required memorizing labels of wine. So John.

_John. Domaine Pierre Morey. _

_French, obviously. France? John hasn't stayed. _

_Favorite? John doesn't drink that kind. Wouldn't know. _

Suddenly, already in the John room, a scene played out in front of me. I was sitting in the kitchen analyzing the glue used on the labels of different bottles. I remembered this. It was a few months after John had moved in. It wasn't for a case, just for knowledge. I was looking into forgeries.

John was handing me tea, or rather setting it down in front of me. He had picked up a bottle. It was the wine bottle. I wasn't paying attention to what he was saying at the time so it all came in and out.

_"...wine?...for the stuff...Clara and she...special...anniversary...Domaine Pierre Morey...birthday present..."  
_

I remember the name because of how poorly he had pronounced the French. I could piece the memory together though. That wine was special to the violin wrecker.

That I would remember.

I internally groaned at the menu. I didn't want any of it. I wanted a cigarette. I could just see the fuss that would cause. If I was going to get John mad that night, it was going to be for one thing. The more things he had to be mad about, the longer it would take for him to get over it. Simple math.

"John, do you want us to chip in? Are you sure we should eat here?"

I rolled my eyes at Harry's belittlement of John.

"I'm not paying. He is."

"Oh, well in that case, I can't wait."

I was going to get a call from Mycroft. Another thing to ignore.

The waitress came over and everyone ordered. I didn't pay attention to them. I was determining how best to execute the plan. John would probably not recall the remark he made vaguely so long ago. Harry would know if I said the name of the bottle. I would have to be more crafty and let it sit in front of her. No one would be happy about me ordering wine around a recovering alcoholic, especially since her eyes kept traveling to the wine wall, but it would take her a while to associate the bottle with her past. That would definitely cause her to leave. And John and I could go home.

I picked random items, knowing I probably wasn't going to eat much of it. "Oh and can we get a bottle of 2005 Meursault for the table please."

No one would be able to tell a thing about that order.

I did receive a lot of glares, as expected. John was the angriest I bet, Harry was at her limit, and Anne was probably disapproving. Then John reached for the wine menu.

_Not good._

_Bat out of hand? Too obvious. _

_Let him read? He won't remember. _

"Sherlock, a word?"

_Threw menu on table. _

_A word away from table. _

_He knows._

_So close._

Still I thought maybe he would kick me out of the restaurant and leave whatever talk he wanted to have for home. Anything to get me out of there.

I did what I had to. I got them their table. I could leave.

"John, it's fine." Harry decided to chime in. She was obviously not smart enough to reach for the wine menu and find out why John was so mad. Well some were more intelligent than others. The Watson family was no different.

"Now."

He was mad. But he didn't take me outside like I expected. Instead he was headed towards the men's bathroom.

Was I interpreting this wrong? He had to of remembered the last time we were in a public restroom. Was he taking me there for the same purpose? Was he actually on my side for this?

His body language said otherwise.

I paused outside the door deciding if it was worth it or not. As soon as I entered I could see I was right the first time. He was furious.

"What do you think you're doing?"

_Did he know what I was doing?_

"I'm not allowed to order wine?"

"Oh by all means Sherlock, order any wine you like but not that one. You did that on purpose. Now I don't know how you deduced it or if I told you or whatever but it doesn't matter. You are going to find that waitress and you are going to tell her to cancel that order."

_He knows._

_Best to play innocence. _

"As a recovering alcoholic your sister should learn to deal with the presence of such things."

"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it."

So he did know and he was still going to take her side? He would never be on my side. The woman hated me, she fought dirty, why couldn't I?

"She broke my violin! And she tried to break my jaw!"

"That was well deserved and the violin is fixed."

"It doesn't matter that it's fixed now. It matters that-"

"I don't want to hear it." John's back straightened even more. His Captain pose. The tone wasn't far behind. "It's childish and it's going to stop. I asked you to be nice to them and you're not, so I'm telling you now. You are going to go out there, you are going to cancel the wine, we are going to have a lovely dinner, and you are going to be nice to my sister and her date. If not, I swear to you, I will handcuff you to your new bed and I will burn out every last one of your cigarettes as I make you watch. Is that clear?"

_Handcuffs. Bed. John. Cigarettes._

The image jumped inside of my mind. It was too easy to picture it all, having ordered the bed that morning, having been in handcuffs before. My imagination went into overdrive as I pictured John sitting there, dominant stare on his face as he puffed gently on a cigarette, slowly putting it out and blowing the smoke in my face as I pulled on the steel keeping me in my place. My eyes automatically flung over his body, picturing how he would look, how his muscles would move. That feeling from the day before was starting to simmer under my skin again.

I was sure one of the videos I watched had handcuffs.

When my eyes met his again I could see they hadn't changed. This wasn't just a distraction. This was a promise. John would actually be willing to do that to me.

"I said, is that clear?"

I couldn't let him get in my head like this. But that feeling was just too distracting.

I tried saying the first thing that came to mind.

"I can get out of handcuffs."

"I'll be more creative then."

_Creative?_

I could get out of a great deal of things. He would have to try more than once, different things each time. Experimenting again and again and again...

When I blinked it seemed his face had suddenly gotten closer to mine. His lips were resting in a tight line, unmoving.

"Fine." I would do what he wanted. Fine. He could win this. But I would not be subjected again!

Two could play at that game. He wanted to distract me from getting back at Harry, then I was just going to use that time to think of ways at getting back at him.

I didn't bother to be nice to the waitress when I asked to cancel the order. She seemed a bit deflated but did as I asked. Then I had to go back to the table. I didn't want to be there but I had to be. So I decided to play along, just so I could have time to think.

"So Harry, Anne, how did you two meet?" I looked at John and he smiled.

_That's right John. I'll play nice.  
_

John was still very distracting all through dinner. I had come up with a few good ways to get back at him but as soon as it was getting good he would touch me and I'd completely lose my train of thought to the one that came up in the bathroom.

The plan I liked so far was to throw all his jumpers in the shower and see how long the fabric would last. Maybe all of his clothes. So he would have to walk around in mine. That would be amusing.

Finally dinner was done but that didn't mean I was free to go yet. Harry kept looking at me in that way that I knew meant she wanted to speak with me alone. Mycroft gave me that look often.

"I'm sorry you two met like this." John tried to make it a joke. He was still uncomfortable.

"Right." Harry turned towards me but I beat her to the punch.

"If you'll excuse us John, I believe your sister wants to have a word alone with me."

I walked over towards the end of the restaurant in a darker corner, away from John. No need to get into even more trouble and I could probably sneak a cigarette without him knowing.

I turned to face Harry when she caught up, she was crossing her arms in a defensive position, her angry returning from before the dinner. Nothing I didn't expect.

"So what is this? The big sister talk? Hurt my little brother and I'll come kick your ass?"

"Oh you already hurt him. And just because you two are together now, doesn't mean you won't again. In fact I believe quite the opposite."

Now that I had not expected. She knew we were together? Or was she just fishing at straws.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please. I have eyes you know. Believe it or not I did grow up with John. I know when he has a girlfriend." She glared at me a moment more shivering a bit from the night air on her legs. She refused to warm herself, to concentrated on her glare. "Or boyfriend."

"Congratulations. Is there a point?"

"There is. I could yell at you, beat you into a bloody pulp, but you're Sherlock. You're not going to listen to me. You're too self centered to listen to anyone but yourself. So answer me this, do you care about John?"

I could have not answered. I could have left her standing there but one look over to John and I could tell that would be the wrong thing to do. I could have lied to her, told her I didn't but there was no point in lying. "More than I care to admit."

She nodded once and continued on, what was obviously, a rehearsed speech. She must have been thinking about what to say over dinner. "I don't know what to believe. If you actually saved his life like he says or if you really did just run off. It doesn't matter. You didn't care to tell him you were alive and it destroyed him." She dropped her arms and brought her body into my personal space, on the attack. "Are you listening to me? Because you need to. Listen to me good. You destroyed him. You've always had this hold over him and you used it to your advantage. You left him alone, completely alone. He pushed everyone away and withered." Her face heated to red with her rage. "You put him in the hospital!

"I'm sure he's told you but you didn't see him. You saw him after he got better. You did not see what it was like before. I was starting to give up on him. He was killing himself every day. There was nothing in his life without you there. He may have told you he was fine or it wasn't that bad but it was. We could all see it. Nothing we did mattered. Whatever he says, know he was ten times worse. He won't tell anyone, soldier he is.

"And you know what the worst thing is? You care enough to even apologize."

"I did say-"

"And I said apologize. Whatever you did was not an apology. You need to own up to what you did. My brother, for whatever stupid reason, cares about you. You say you care about him? Prove it. Prove it to me, prove it to him, prove it to yourself. Stop dragging him along and fitting him to your needs. You care? Act like it.

"I will never like you. I'm sure you don't care. But if I'm going to leave you and John together, I need to know. Believe me when I say this is your last chance. You are in a relationship now. Things change. You have to care about someone other than yourself. Stop being a narcissistic bastard. John is giving you a second chance. Are you going to take it? Because if not, you are better off leaving him right now. If you care then do what is right. Are you going to be the man John needs you to be or the man you were before? Make a decision and make it quick."

This was a little more than I expected. I had no problems keeping up with what Harry was saying. I did have problems keeping up with how it made me feel.

_The man John needs me to be or the man I was before._

I looked over to John again. He was talking to Anne in the cab giggling at something she said. The laugh crinkled his eyes and brought a smile to his face. He looked happy. I could feel my lips tug to a smile but they fell as soon as I caught sight of the other Watson. "I can't leave him again." I said truthfully, not even sure she would believe me.

"And you better not. You better be there for him. If I hear of anything wrong, anything you do to him that doesn't make him explicitly happy, just know John is not the only one in the family who knows how to work a gun."

She put on a fake smile and turned back to the other two.

So it _was_ the big sister talk. Just with an extra layer of guilt.

As I walked back I could see John wanting to ask what we talked about. I didn't want him to know.

"Chinese?" He was obviously still hungry and I could use the distraction to think. Chinese was better than whatever I just ate anyway.

"Sure."

* * *

The food was fine but I wasn't eating. I was too busy reeling over what Harry said, replaying it. I knew I shouldn't let it affect me so much but everything she said was true. I wasn't there. I needed to be.

And John still didn't know how sorry I was.

When we made it home I could tell John just wanted to get to bed. He was a bit grumpy from my lack of conversation after the dinner. I was sure he asked about what Harry said but I never answered him.

I grabbed him before he could get away from me again and brought him into me. I needed to let him know. He had to know how sorry I really was. I didn't even know how bad it was. I hadn't had the full effect of the consequences of my actions.

"I'm so sorry John." His hair tickled under my chin as my lips moved across his temple. I pulled him even tighter, relieved when he gripped me back.

"I know. I know."

I spent minutes cataloging every sensation for my Mind Palace. This was a memory that would never escape from me.


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: **This chapter has nothing to do with anything. Okay it does. I wanted to do a bonus chapter with Mycroft/Lestrade after their dinner scene but I didn't and I wished I did so when I wrote this, I was like _'Screw it. Up it goes!' _

* * *

**Cabbie POV  
**

* * *

I idled the cab as I waited for the blonde woman to come into the car, as the woman in the back had instructed. I knew the hotel they were staying at so there was nothing for me to do but wait and listen as the woman in the back spoke to the short man outside the cab. It was all small talk, nothing too exciting.

The blonde one stomped over, after yelling at the tall man, and grabbed the short one up in a hug. Probably close friend or family. She was obviously not close with the taller one. He didn't look all that friendly anyway. I caught eyes with him as he walked back and he just gave me the willies.

The girl in the back said her goodbyes as the blonde pushed into the seat next to her. I assumed they both just came from a night out, wearing those dresses in this weather. I cranked up the heat a couple more notches as I pulled from the curb.

The shorter man on the street waved, the other just stood and watched. Definitely the creepy one.

"So what did you say?" The black haired girl who had been waiting spoke. I caught her reflection in the rear view and saw the blonde running a hand through her hair, pulling it out a bit. I assumed that was a fight then that she had stomped off from.

"I told him he better start caring or he better start leaving." The blonde said sighing and running her hands over her arms to warm herself up.

"Harry..." The other woman chastised and when I peaked back again I could see her hands also trying to warm the other.

"What?" Harry asked with mock surprise.

"Did you threaten him with the gun thing?"

"I may have." The other woman sighed out loud and we came to a stoplight, backed up a bit with all the cars. Night time traffic. "What? At least I didn't include you on the threat. Then we'd have some musical numbers to worry about." I peaked back and saw the other woman glaring at Harry. "You know, Annie get your gun-"

I couldn't help _Anything you can do, I can do better..._ from starting in my head.

"Oh I knew what you meant. This look is the look of disapproval." They both chuckled and another peak back showed they had wiggled closer together, the Annie one crowding into the middle of the seat with her hands on Harry. They were obviously a couple. Cute couple.

"I don't think I was quite terrifying enough." Harry contemplated aloud.

"Oh I beg to differ. You are quite terrifying when you want to be."

"Not terrifying enough. He didn't seem very effected."

"He's Sherlock. I don't think he would show that."

Sherlock. That name sounded familiar.

I pulled forward through the light and continued on the route. As I peaked back I could see they were now leaning against each other probably sharing the heat coming through the back. I thought to ask if it was okay or if it was getting too hot but they didn't seem to want to be bothered.

"I can't believe they're together." Harry spoke up.

"They care about each other."

"They don't care about each other. John has some sort of weird Stockholm syndrome and Sherlock is just a manipulative bastard."

"I don't think so." Annie sounded like she was treading carefully. I could hear it in her voice. "I think they both do care. Sherlock isn't good at showing it. He feels guilty as hell. John obviously cares. I think there's more to it than they're showing us."

"You always see the good in people."

"That's not always a bad thing you know."

"John does too. That's how he ended up in this mess."

"John's a big boy, he can take care of himself."

I peaked back again as I took a turn and saw that Annie had Harry's head on her shoulder and she was running a hand through her hair. Obviously Harry cared for John. That must have been the one she hugged.

"I just don't want him to screw his life over. Not like how I did." Harry's voice grew quieter as she spoke but I could still make it out.

"Hey-" Annie's tone grew comforting. "You've screwed up but look at how well you're doing. Especially today. You've been sober for weeks and it only ended with one guy getting punched in the face." They both chuckled for a moment.

"He deserved it."

"Of all the men, probably." There was a pause in the conversation as we took a turn or two more. "You didn't screw your life over Harry. And you can't prevent John from making his own mistakes. You don't even know if this is a mistake."

"You don't think it is."

"Like you said. I only see the good. It's a curse."

"It's a lucky thing you're cursed then. Or I never would have met you."

There was silence yet again and a quick peak back and I could see their mouths were preoccupied at the moment. They definitely were a cute couple.

"Feel better?" Annie asked as we were nearing their hotel.

"Much. But I really wished I could have kicked him. You know, just once, right where it counts." They both chucked as I pulled up to the curb to drop them off. "Though the great and almighty Sherlock Holmes would have seen it coming." Sherlock Holmes! That's why it was familiar. Wasn't he dead? "I don't know what my brother sees in him. Or even what he sees in John."

"There's nothing to see when it's love." Annie said and Harry scoffed before they paid and shuffled into the hotel doors.

Sherlock Holmes. John Watson.

And Harry was the sister to John Watson.

I just had the sister of John Watson and her girlfriend in the back of my cab.

I flipped on the light to show I was free and waited to see if anyone was coming from the hotel.

It was always amazing to me, how much people would talk in the back of my cab. I could hear so many wondrous stories. It was an entertaining job. This one definitely a top ten though.

Sherlock Holmes returning from the dead and getting a boyfriend.

I wasn't about to tell anyone, I didn't really care to. But my wife was going to love this.


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: **Sorry, I did plan on posting this yesterday but I fell asleep. So here it is...

Warning for murder scene. It is really not that bad again but a little more graphic I guess. I could do much worse.

_Hunger Games_ references. If you haven't read the trilogy yet then you should. Don't just watch the movies. The books are so much better! (as in every case) Though I do crush on Jenifer Lawrence.

Do you think the government watches author's computers more because of their internet search history? Well not during the shut down probably (which did just end). Rule #1 - never judge an author's internet history.

I'm glad you enjoyed the cute chapter. They are cute.

Personally, I rather enjoy this chapter and I hope you do too. Things hop around a bit so if you get lost, you know what to do.

I'm late to the game and just realized they're bringing Mary into the show. Ugh! Not on my ship.

* * *

**John POV**

* * *

After that night things got so much better.

Eventually our pattern started to return to the one we had before the mess had happened. Sherlock worked on more and more cases, people would be less and less surprised to see him. I would help him out when I could and tag along when he went out, always packing my gun at my side. I was a little less willing to leave work because of how much time I had taken away that year but I couldn't lie to myself. I wanted to be with him more than I wanted to see patients.

I would write the cases down and save them on my computer for later. I thought about making them into a sort of book that could be read after the Moran/Moriarty danger was over with.

I wasn't all that tempted to put them up.

It was surprising to me, how Sherlock's return was completely out of the eye of the media. At first, I hadn't thought much of it but as the cases progressed I realized it was because of something else. Something was preventing it. I assumed it was a part of the deal Sherlock made. The deal that he still wouldn't tell me about.

Not once was he mentioned on the TV, or the newspaper, or any internet article. There were no headlines reading _Genius Returns from the Dead!_ like I expected. No one was mentioning it. Anytime I thought about bringing it up to him, Sherlock would just cut me off and change the subject.

Then I really found out why.

We had just finished a rather large kidnapping case and we were headed back to the flat. A boy, probably in his late teens, spotted us as we were calling over a taxi.

"Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes?" The teen jogged over and I could feel Sherlock already wanting to run away. He was always best in his mood after he solved a good case and I was kind of hoping to spend some time alone with my partner while he was so happy. So I wasn't completely unsympathetic to his wanting to leave. Yet the kid still jogged up with a giant goofy grin. "Wow. I heard rumors you were alive but I didn't know. It hasn't been on the news or anything." He was practically gasping and Sherlock was practically yelling as a cab drove right by us without stopping.

"Leave." Sherlock growled really ignoring the kid. But he was persistent.

"Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?" He was reaching over into the backpack over his shoulder, pulling out a pen and notebook. "I have this fan page online and people would just love an interview with you."

"No articles." Sherlock said trying to catch the attention of another cab.

I didn't really know what to do. I felt bad for the kid who probably just was curious but at the same time it was cold and I just wanted to go home. I was exhausted.

"No? But you don't understand, see-"

"No you don't understand!" Sherlock turned, leaning over the poor boy giving his very best threatening expression. It was a good one. "If you know what's good for you, you will post nothing. Do you understand? Nothing!" He yelled and walked past the boy apparently giving up on the cab. I gave the stunned boy a sympathetic look and ran after Sherlock as we tried a different street.

The boy didn't listen.

The next day his body was found in his room. His computer was open to that fan page of his and on the screen it read _Entry Deleted._ His head lay blasted open bleeding all over the keys.

Sherlock refused to take the case. That caused a whole slew of problems. Lestrade didn't understand why he refused and wouldn't let it be. Donovan chimed in with her old theory about how Sherlock would one day be the one murdering people. Anderson, stupidly, decided that maybe Sherlock was just off his game and couldn't solve it.

I knew better. I could put two and two together.

Sherlock left the scene and went home without me. I let him be. I needed the time to yell at all the morons left in the room anyway. They were all a little bit surprised by how mad I was. At least it shut them up. Even Anderson.

When I went home, in a separate cab, Sherlock wasn't around. I waited for him to come in, staying up, and he came in late. He didn't really say anything, I didn't push him to. He went into his room without looking at me and locked himself in there for days. He wouldn't eat or talk to me. So I would talk to him outside his door, patiently waiting. Never getting a response.

Eventually he did make the decision to leave his room. I eased around him for a bit. I wasn't sure if he appreciated it because he probably wanted things to go back to normal. He probably didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to hurt him more than he already was.

I waited a few days before trying to bring it up. He was on the couch looking up at the ceiling waiting for one of his experiments in the kitchen to finish. I had been home for a bit, he hadn't spoken to me much that day. I couldn't stand to see him upset anymore. He wasn't even upset, he just wasn't dealing.

I walked over to the couch and sat down on the edge, grabbing his hand from his side and holding it in my lap. He sighed, knowing what I was going to say.

"It is not your fault." I said anyway.

"We both know that isn't true."

"No Sherlock. You told him not to. He didn't listen."

"He was a teenager with an abusive father, of course he wasn't going to listen."

My first thought was back to how the teen looked. I wondered how Sherlock deduced he had an abusive father. That wasn't the point though.

"You didn't kill him Sherlock." We both knew who really put that bullet through his brain. "_They_ did."

"Because of me."

"But they-"

"John. I'm going to save your time and mine. There is nothing you can say that will dispute the fact that this happened because of me. Now leave me alone."

He pulled his hand out of mine and brought it back behind my back. I shook my head at him and grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, still in the middle of the room from the night before. I reached back and grabbed his hand again forcing it back into my lap. I leaned back across him to rest my back on the back of the couch and held his palm firm in mine.

I wasn't going anywhere.

The case with the young boy was probably the worst of them. It didn't happen again though. I was going to make sure of that. If anyone hinted about writing an article, I was there, flashing my gun, telling them no. It worked fairly well. We didn't have a problem.

We didn't really talk about it again. The Yarders let it go when I defended Sherlock again. Lestrade had the smarts to not bring it up if I was the one yelling but the others were curious. Lestrade shut them down. Then everything went back to normal.

* * *

Of course, Sherlock did not always have a case. On those days I was always nervous as to what I was going to come home to.

Sherlock ordered more and more equipment and did more and more experiments from home. I had a theory he didn't want to go to the lab anymore because of Tammy, but that didn't stop him. She did have days off after all. Plus Sherlock wasn't about to let her invade his territory.

He was mean to her when I wasn't there, I was sure, and extremely rude when I was. I was almost nervous to see if she was working every time I entered the lab. She was always nice to me. Sherlock always hated it. So usually I just stopped meeting him at Bart's, unless it was for a case.

One night I came home to a very unusual experiment of his.

I was coming home from work when I saw Sherlock standing on our kitchen table with a bow and arrow in his hands. More arrows laid on the other side of the apartment and some next to his feet. I was about to ask him what the hell he was doing when he shot off the arrow in his hand and it flew across towards the moose head hanging on the wall.

"Sherlock!"

The windows were right there! Plus the walls! One arrows was already sticking out.

"John!" Sherlock yelled, sloppily jumping down from the table.

"What are you doing?" I reached to take the bow from him but he held it behind his back.

"Shh. It's an experiment." He nodded towards me wavering a bit as he tilted back away. I could instantly smell alcohol on his breath.

"Have you been drinking?" I sighed reaching for the bow again but he just hopped back again and grabbed another arrow off the table.

"Of course John! That's the experiment!" He shot off the arrow and missed our window by only an inch. I inched closer knowing if I made any sudden movements he would probably run and fall down. Sudden movements and drunks didn't mix well.

"I know I'm going to regret this but what is the experiment exactly?" I reached across the table to grab the arrows left but Sherlock reached out a hand and stopped me from collecting them.

"What if the only berries on the island made them drunk. Could you survive it if you were drunk the entire time?! The recurve because obviously they didn't have compound. She couldn't afford one anyway. Plus they're more fun. No challenge in a compound. And-"

"Wait, wait, wait." I was already getting lost as he kept on explaining, not letting my arm go. "Who is she? Survive what exactly?"

"Come on John. Use your brain." He bonked me on the head with the bow and ran across the room to pick up the discarded arrows. "You're going to need it for the games!"

"The games? Sherlock- Are you talking about the Hunger Games?"

"Don't worry John. I'll be the Katniss to your Peeta. I won't let them get you."

Alright this was just amusing at this point. I picked up the arrows on the table and started to walk over to pick up the ones in his hand before he hurt himself.

"What if I don't want to be Peeta?" I joked, watching his drunken stare to see if he could tell what I was doing as I tiptoed behind him.

"Well you can't be Katniss John. You haven't been practicing while drunk. Duh!"

I laughed and grabbed him from behind, stealing the arrows from his hand and backing away before he could grab them back. I put them quickly on my chair and grabbed him again, from the front this time, trying to get the bow as well. He had a tighter grip on that.

"Get off John. Katniss doesn't even like Peeta!" He pulled the bow further away and stuck it up over his head, almost brushing the ceiling. I would have to climb him if I wanted it.

"Are you saying you don't like me Sherlock?" I asked in mock outrage. He pouted at me and rolled his eyes. Suddenly he was leaning in too close and giving me the sloppiest kiss ever. I took that as a no. I wiped my mouth on his shirt, still holding him in place. His weight was falling on me a bit too much.

"Alright Katniss, time to lie down." I dragged him over to the couch and pushed him down, finally getting the bow from his hands. He pouted at me more but he was too easy to push down onto his side. He grumbled something as I walked to the kitchen and I had to call back to ask him what he said. "What was that Sherlock?"

"Make sure they don't get us." His slightly louder response was. I giggled from the kitchen as I found the almost empty bottle of wine on the counter.

"I'll make sure." I looked back and he was already passed out on the arm of the chair.

I couldn't wait until he sobered up and I got the chance to tell him he admitted reading _The Hunger Games_ to me. AND that he wanted to be Katniss. That would be fun.

* * *

Sherlock wouldn't always be fun when not on a case though. One particular incident where he pissed me off more than normal was when I actually had something to do for myself for a change.

I didn't see my old army buddies that much. We got together about once a year. It was understood that that was enough. We didn't need the constant reminder of our past otherwise. It was just good to stay in touch. To know that someone went through the same stuff you did.

We were all set to meet at a pub downtown and everything was fine, but then Sherlock found out.

"I'm leaving." I was on my way out the door ready to have a few drinks, not too many, and have some fun. Sherlock jumped out from the kitchen in total shock. He obviously had forgotten. Or not listened.

"What?"

"To the pub. I've been telling you all week."

I had been telling him every day or so for the past week, just so he knew I couldn't be called off for anything. Case included.

He looked me up and down, "To see your army buddies."

"Yes Sherlock. So only call or text for emergencies okay? Do I have to define emergency for you?"

He rolled his eyes at me but suddenly straightened and looked me up and down again. "Don't go."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't. Go." He said again trying to step into my personal space. I wasn't having any of that. This was exactly why I had been telling him all week. Now he was just going to ignore me and tell me not to go? No.

"I'm going Sherlock."

"No you're not."

"Oh and why is that?"

"Because I said so."

"Oh because you said so?" My fists quickly clenched and my sarcastic tone started to spill out. "Well of course! In that case of course I'm not going."

"Are you-"

"Of course I'm going Sherlock!" Sarcasm spilled into rage.

"No."

"One good reason." Or a good reason not to punch him in the face. "Give me one good reason." He stared at me again looking me up and down a few more times. "Honestly Sherlock, why the hell shouldn't I?"

"Army buddies. Testosterone. Peer pressure. You'll drink."

"It's a pub. Of course I'm gonna drink."

Not a very good reason.

"You'll drink too much and hallucinate."

That struck a nerve.

Did he really think so little of me?

"You actually think that?"

"You drank to see them before. You haven't drank since the hospital. There is a reason for that."

"The only reason you know about that is because you read my journal. Personal journal!"

"It doesn't make it any less true!"

"So what? You think I'm just going to drink myself into a coma? That I won't be able to handle it? That alcoholism runs in the family?"

"After the hospital-"

"Forget the hospital Sherlock! I'm done with that damn hospital trip. Everyone keeps talking about it! I screwed up okay?! Do you really think I'll screw up that badly again?"

"Alcohol has adverse effects-"

"Screw this." I grabbed my jacket and headed towards the door. I would just put it on outside. "I'm going."

"John I forbid you!"

I stopped in the door and turned around to see if he was kidding. He wasn't. "You what?"

"John, as your partner, I forbid you from going." He sounded so sure. As if that would actually work.

"As my partner, you _forbid_ me?" I stared at him longer trying to ignore the part of me that wanted to punch him cross the face. He was forbidding me? As if he owned me? "You know what Sherlock? Fuck off."

I stomped out the door and walked a couple of blocks before I grabbed my cab. I turned my phone on silent just to make sure I wouldn't hear him texting or calling.

I was too mad to have much fun at first but I did only see these guys a couple of times a year max so I shoved it all down and caught up with everyone.

When I came home Sherlock was in his room hiding. I just went up to mine and slept.

And I did not hallucinate.

The next morning I was still cranky about it all. Plus I had a mild hangover from the beer. I wasn't the kid I used to be.

I walked down to get some water, and something greasy, and was greeted by something rather unusual. The table was clear of all experiments and equipment and in its place was a spread of breakfast things. Orange juice, chocolate chip and blueberry pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit, toast, and tea all laid out with an empty plate and fork. I looked around to see if this was some sort of joke but no one was around. I peeked in the fridge to find it fully stocked with the usual things I got, plus a few more. I smelled the food on the table and everything seemed okay but it was on the experiment table. It could still be an experiment.

"It's not poisoned." Sherlock's voice rang out from the hall before he walked into the living room and picked up his violin to play. I was still a twinge mad but mostly I was just surprised by the spread.

Mrs. Hudson had to of had something to do with it.

I ate my fill and moved over to my laptop, not sure if I should accept his apology breakfast or not. He didn't actually make it.

Then I went to the web browser to check my email but found it open to a search page. The search read _How to apologize to a significant other_. I laughed at myself and looked over at Sherlock, still playing that tune that I really liked but didn't know the name of.

Of course he would need to search how to apologize. At least he understood he needed to.

It wasn't like he had anyone to talk to about it. Our relationship was pretty much just between us and it wasn't like he would talk about it to anyone anyway. Mycroft I was certain knew due to cameras and Holmes' genes. Lestrade probably had guessed something was up from how much he saw us together but didn't say anything. Mrs. Hudson had always guessed so she probably knew but that was it. Oh, and Molly. She may have caught me massaging his shoulders once in the lab. They all just let us be. No one really brought it up.

Well his apology was accepted.

He also made it up to me even more that night in more...creative ways.

* * *

Another thing about Sherlock not being on a case though was the thought of the drugs. It never really left my mind but I was especially worried when he didn't have a case. His withdrawal was going better than I could have hoped. Which only made me worry more.

He would frequently come into my room and sit by my side while I slept as he smoked on his cigarette. It was less and less and it was never while he was on a case. When on cases he could never bother to slow down. I understood this and though I missed him sitting next to me, holding my hand, I wouldn't bring it up.

On the nights he wasn't in my bed I assumed he was downstairs in his own. I hoped he was sleeping. I caught him sleeping a few times on the sofa, nothing new there.

I was always extra worried when he wasn't in my bed and he wasn't in the living room.

My gut was telling me to be worried when he was missing. I was worried that he wasn't in his room sleeping. That he was in his room either doing something he knew he wasn't supposed to be or he was out doing whatever it was with Victor.

I didn't press the Victor issue much. If he was out and I noticed he would always answer truthfully. I didn't like it but every time I tried to bring it up, he would fight me. He wouldn't budge on the issue. I had to accept I wouldn't know what he was doing.

One defining night I went downstairs to look for him. It was the middle of the night. Sherlock hadn't come to my room and he wasn't in the living room. There wasn't the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke that I had become accustomed to. I thought to text and ask if he was out with Victor but wanted to check his room to make sure. I didn't want to seem too paranoid. I walked in without knocking.

And it was a good thing I did.

He had the cocaine there in his hand.

My heart sank.

I could see him looking at it. He was staring, really staring, contemplating what to do about it. I easily became panicked. I had trusted Sherlock was doing well, not trying to pry too hard as I never did see him with the drug before and knew it would lead to conflicts. Now I wasn't sure if every time I thought he was doing well was because he was popping off in the middle of the night and doing it without letting me know. Could he have continued his cocaine habit right under my nose?

I slowly entered the room, trying not to scare him too much. I was doing my best to hide my disappointment.

I should have known better.

"Sherlock?" I whispered out, moving until I was standing in front of him. He was on the bed with his legs swung over. Just staring. I knelt down in front of him and tried to get my face in his line of vision. He didn't flinch or show any sign he saw me. "Sherlock?" I tried a bit louder.

"I'm sorry John." Sherlock said still staring at the small packet in his hand.

"It's alright." I said running my hands over his legs. "Have you taken any?"

"Not today." Sherlock said still staring at the packet in his hand. He refused to look at me.

"Okay. Just give it to me Sherlock and I'll get rid of it." I held out my hand and waited. I couldn't take it from him. He needed to be willing to give it up.

He stared out longer.

It had to be minutes before he finally lowered it into my hands and placed his hand back in with his other. I smiled at him before standing and rubbing a hand alongside his cheek.

"I'll be right back." I kissed the top of his head as I left the room, to the bathroom, and flushed down the cocaine he had given me. When I returned he hadn't moved from his place on his bed. I sat down next to him, sinking into the foam of the bed, and reached a hand across his back. "Is that all of it?" I asked hoping he would give me the truth. I figured he would probably have more if he was still using.

"In the closet," He looked out, refusing to look at me again. "On the left wall there is a fake panel. That's the last of it."

I nodded and walked over to the closet shifting through his clothes until I found the panel he was talking about. Inside were three small packets of white powder and all three books of _The Hunger Games _series. I would have to ask about that at a more appropriate time.

I grabbed the packets out and flushed them down. I thought about checking for more but I knew Sherlock would hide it somewhere I would never look. I would either have to let him get rid of it himself or I would have to wait until he told me.

I ran upstairs quick and grabbed my phone before running back down and returning to Sherlock's side. I grabbed him by the hand and led him up to the top of the bed where I sat against the headboard. He didn't fight me and I held him against me. I wrapped both of my arms around him and tilted my head against his just breathing him in and letting him lean into me.

It had to of been at least an hour before I broke the silence. "I'm going to take some time off work." I could feel Sherlock tense at my side. I had been worried he had fallen asleep and I had woken him but he didn't sound tired when he spoke up.

"Don't be ridiculous. You caught me in one slip, there is no reason-"

"Exactly. I caught you this one time. Sherlock, you can't slip up any time. I want to make you better. You're not getting out of this. Doctor's orders."

Sherlock didn't argue back, by some miracle, and chose instead to rest back down into my side. We spent most of the night like that. I slid down at some point due to needing to sleep myself and he stayed by my side through the night.

That was how I ended up sleeping in Sherlock's bed with him. Every night from then on. The idea of taking up Mycroft's offer from long before was very tempting but I couldn't do it. Sherlock really did not want to go back to that house, for whatever reason. I knew he would resent me for it. I would see how he was with me and we could decide how it was going. I wasn't just going to be watchful, I was going to be on watch at all times.

I wasn't going to leave his side and I kept true to that. I went with him everywhere he went, on every case, every trip to the lab, and every cigarette break. The only time I wouldn't be around him was if Victor called.

It only happened once during that time. Sherlock had tricked me and locked me in the bathroom. I was left pounding on the door while he explained how there was food, water, and Sudoku in the shower. I pounded harder but he didn't unlock it and it didn't budge. I was left in the bathroom for eight hours before he came back from Victor and unlocked the door for me. I was steaming mad but I still hung around him to make sure he wouldn't fall off the damn wagon again.

He was a lot to deal with, being around him that much, more than usual. When he couldn't smoke he was the worst. I wanted to throw him out a window so many times but I had to tell myself that it was just the withdrawal talking, mostly.

Eventually things started to get better. He was less snarky and returned to the normal amount of jerk that I knew him to be. The cravings happened less and less and he smoked less and less. He wasn't ready for the patches yet but I could see it in the near future. I just had to wait until I was positive the cravings were gone.

When I noticed the change I mentioned going back to work but Sherlock would argue with me every time. He suggested I stay home with him. I took that as him saying he enjoyed my company. That, or he just got used to having me around whenever it was convenient. His argument was that he had enough money to support us both and that the office was a boring place to be. I didn't disagree, though I knew he meant Mycroft had enough money for us both. I just felt like I needed a break from him. I loved him but he was still Sherlock. No one could handle him 24/7.

Plus I was going through my own withdrawal. I had long forgotten the feeling of losing touch with reality. I knew what was real now but that didn't stop me from taking my antidepressants. I had given up going to the therapist, not needing her anymore and not wanting to explain why I didn't.

A part of me was still stuck in the thought that if I stopped taking them altogether then I wouldn't know what was real anymore. I accepted what was real while on them. If I went off of them, I was afraid I would be confused again.

I remembered how much Sherlock didn't like me taking them so I tried to hide them. He probably knew, in fact I bet he did, but I hoped he appreciated the effort. I started taking them less and less and I was only really taking them once a week. It was silly to even be taking them at all but I was just too scared to take that last step. I was beginning to feel a bit sympathetic with Sherlock's addiction. Of course his was much much worse.

* * *

As far as our relationship went, it was hard to explain. We were still us. Nothing had really changed except for …well, really everything did. We were still us, we acted like us, but everything was different in what we did. Now when I made him a cup of tea he would understand I was trying to look out for him and sometimes he would even say thank you. I also noticed when he was making a considerable effort to be nicer to me, around me. No one could change who Sherlock was though.

I was still very unsure about how he felt. I knew he cared for me, he knew I loved him, but he never really expressed how he felt in so many words. He was good to me and I knew he like me but I didn't think love was an emotion he had categorized. He had expressed before how it was a distraction and I was afraid to ask if I had changed his mind. I was content with him knowing how I felt and while I always wanted that little bit more, I knew I couldn't risk losing him because of it. He had to come to me about it in his own time.

The closest he had ever come was on a particularly difficult case of his. He had been trying to figure out a pattern of murders that spanned over the last eight decades. He was the one who pointed out the pattern to the police. He was trying to find out who the murderer was, based off old records, photographs, and the one recent murder. It was proving to be difficult and he was stuck trying to find the connection.

Then one morning while making breakfast I was asking him what he wanted. He said he didn't want anything so I went through the usual list, pressing him, landing on; "Bread a butter?"

As soon as I said it he gasped and I could see him making the connection in front of me. "Through the looking glass." He whispered out before jumping up gleefully and kissing me full on. "Of course! I knew there's a reason I lo-" His words dropped out and he quickly dropped my face and spun towards the door. "Come John, we have a case to solve!"

Apparently my reference to breakfast made him think of the White Queen from the Lewis Carroll books. The thought made him look at the victims' eyes again, through harder scrupulation. He found each had been marked with a very small symbol used in some odd witchcraft ritual. Apparently there was an underground cult who made ritual sacrifices every ten years to appease their gods.

I never asked what he was going to say when he said '_there's a reason I lo-'_. It got my hopes up enough.

* * *

Not every case was easy and not every time did I happen to say something that made him_ lo-_ me.

One particular case was excruciatingly painful for all involved.

It happened during the time I was with Sherlock 24/7. I had been with him absolutely every step in the case. I saw how much it was confusing him, annoying him, frustrating him. No one was helping and he was just getting more and more frustrated.

Person after person were being taken. Every day and night there was a new one missing and there was no pattern. They had nothing to do with each other, the kidnappings or the people. They were all different ages, different races, lived in different places. The only thing that made their disappearance a kidnapping was the time they were taken. Every day someone new was taken at 12:48pm and 12:48am. It was the only trail the kidnapper left behind. No one knew why that was. Sherlock didn't know either.

He was trying really hard but nothing changed. A random disappearance happened at 12:48 every day, twice a day. More policemen were dispatched for those times but it never did anything. No one knew where the kidnapper would strike or why. Why that time or why now. There was no trail to lead where they were taken.

Sherlock was going insane over it. Everyone was on him at the Yard and he was on them back. The kidnapper wasn't slipping. Every scene Sherlock would leave steaming because there was nothing there to find. He needed them to make a mistake, to do something different, to slip.

He was obsessed with finding out the reasoning behind the timing both the dates of the kidnappings and that 12:48. He knew it had to mean something and it was the only clue he had.

Needless to say we were not getting along that well during it. I was trying so hard to be understanding. He wanted to solve it, he needed to. Someone else would be kidnapped every 12 hours and the clock only started counting down every time the clock struck 12:48.

On the fifth day he was on another rant, looking at the notes across the wall, my computer open by his side. I wasn't allowed to touch it all week. It was nearing the time for the next kidnapping, 12:40am. He had already broken a clock we had because he couldn't solve it in time. Every time the clock dinged ticked to 12:48 he would be unreachable. He was fairly unreachable anyway.

I had brought him some tea and wrapped a hand around his waist to let him know I was there but that was just the wrong thing to do.

"Get off John. Your physical needs are not going to solve this." He stepped out from my grasp and closer to the wall of notes. "What am I missing?" He breathed out loud for the umpteenth time.

"I wasn't asking to-"

"Shut up John!" He snapped, glaring at me in the mirror. "Six minutes John! That's how long I have! You are only slowing me down!"

He flipped his gaze back to the wall and I stood steaming, glaring at him in the mirror. I wanted to yell, I really did. But he had a point. The time was ticking down and if I made him miss this chance by trying to calm him then he would never let it go. I wouldn't forgive myself really.

Five minutes.

Four.

"Stop watching me."

I moved to the kitchen.

Three.

Two.

One.

Sherlock was trying hard, straining himself. I knew it wasn't beneficial for his thinking, being so pent up but I couldn't say anything. I just would wait.

Seconds ticking down.

Three.

Two.

One.

Out of time.

Sherlock yelled and almost struck the mirror with his fist. He flung his hands into his hair and pulled. I ran over to him and grabbed his hands out from his grasp.

"Get off!" He yelled again but I wasn't going to listen to him this time. He struggled more and flipped his wriggling body into his chair. I knelt down in front of his chair.

"Sherlock-" I started calming but he wasn't looking at me. He had his eyes painfully shut and his hands still wrung in his hair. "Sherlock, when was the last time you slept?" He hadn't been coming to bed with me the entire case. I tried to hint at it but every time he became testy and continued with his case.

"Sleep will not solve this." He groaned out without opening his eyes.

"You need to sleep to function. You need sleep to think. You can't solve it unless-"

"That's just it John. I can't solve it." He squinted his eyes shut even harder and pulled with his hands again.

"Yes you can and you will."

"No I can't John!" He screamed suddenly and bent forwards opening his eyes and staring me down. "Don't you get it? I can't!"

"Yes. You can." I reached out for his hands but he was already jumping off the chair and pacing madly about the room.

"Just stop! Stop all of this! Stop expecting things from me!"

"I don't expect anything from you."

"Someone was just taken! You expected me to save them and I didn't!

"The only thing I expect from you is to try! Which is what you are doing."

"Trying isn't enough. I can't solve this."

"Yes you can."

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because it's true. You can doing anything Sherlock."

"We both know that isn't true. You shouldn't put so much faith in people John. It leads to bitter disappointment. Something you know well."

"I'm not disappointed in you."

"You should be."

"Yeah? Well I'm not. You can do anything Sherlock. Do you know who you are? You're Sherlock Holmes for Christ's sake. You cheat death. You help people. You see things others can't. You know things. You're the bloody most brilliant man out there." He stopped pacing and I walked closer towards him. "This person is not smarter than you. They can't be. There is no one and nothing that can beat you. You are too clever for that. You can do everything and anything you want. If I have to remind you that your body needs a look after too then fine, you should listen to me, just so I can help you do everything. Because you can do everything.

"Sherlock, there are so many reasons I love you." I never said the L word out lout to him. I knew it made him uncomfortable and he knew anyway. I continued, ignoring the shock on his face. "One of them is how hard you are taking this right now. I believe in you Sherlock Holmes. You're not going to give up. You are going to solve this. You are going to help those people. It is who you are. So come to bed. You can think in there and get yourself some sleep. You can't destroy yourself over this. Maybe you'll even dream up the answer. Just come with me and rest for a bit. You can do this. Just give yourself a break. Please."

Sleep was all he needed. The next day I heard him yelling in the living room about how he had solved it.

Apparently the clue was the fact that all the victims were different. The kidnapper needed a wide test group.

The kidnapper had been taking the victims to his lab facility out of town. Sherlock noticed his clock was set 12 minutes fast. He was furious with himself for letting the stupidity of a fast clock slow him down so much.

The kidnapper was using the people he took as human experiments to test his theories on the Ebola virus. He believed he had found a way to cure the humans who became infected with it and took a variety of subjects and infected them with it. As he was being dragged away he was shouting about how the ends would justify the means. He was obviously not able to continue.

Seven of the ten people taken died because of being infected with the virus.

* * *

It wasn't the only memorable case though.

The one I liked to recall the most was one where Sherlock was much happier. The original call was made because of a murder by the bay.

Getting there was interesting.

I was exhausted. I had returned to work and had myself one hell of a day, always on my feet. When I came home Sherlock was yelling about how I needed to pack because we were going for the weekend. I was a bit confused, I was tired, I didn't know what he was talking about. I honestly thought for a moment that he could be talking about a vacation. Then I asked.

"Murder John."

Of course it was.

"Where?"

"Port of Ramsgate. Come on. Car's outside."

Really my brain was not functioning. I should have asked what the murder was, how Sherlock got a job all the way out there, if Lestrade was coming, but no. I didn't ask a thing. I just trudged to our bedroom and packed a bag for the weekend.

I came down to find Sherlock standing next to a black car parked on the street. I nodded and shoved my bag in the trunk next to his. I didn't even ask what he was bringing with him.

I started to get into the back of the car but saw Sherlock reach out for the driver's side door.

"Wait. Who's driving us?"

"I am." Sherlock said jumping into the drivers seat and leaving me out.

"All that way?" I slid into the passenger's seat checking the car over. He had driven me a bit before but it was usually only a few minute drive. This was over two hours away. Sherlock could handle something like driving for ten minutes or so but could he stay attentive for hours?

"John, what must you think of me? What do you think I did as a teen?" He started the engine and I pulled the seat belt tight around my waist.

"I don't know. Science and stuff? Graduating college far too early?" Conversation was asking a bit much of me at that point.

He rolled his eyes at me and whipped out a pair of small leather gloves. "What do you think I did for fun?"

"Um..." Stuff I don't want to talk about because you're doing so well and not giving into it. "You drove for fun?"

"It's called drag racing John." He threw me a wink.

"Drag rac-" I yelped as he sped far too quickly out of the lot and sped us down the street.

I never regretted getting into a car more in my life.

It was terrifying!

He had nothing to worry about either because he had big brother on his side to get him out of any traffic ticket. I on the other hand lost any hopes of sleeping along the way. I just held on while he made a two hour driving trip last about half that time.

When we did get there, thankfully in one piece, he took me to the police officers we were working with. They were apparently instructed by higher ups not to do anything until we arrived. I thought that was a bit strange but I wasn't about to bring it up in front of the officer. So instead I just shut up and followed everyone to the body out at the docks.

"Her name is Mary Morstan. Died sometime early this morning. No visual on cameras." The officer in charge told us. "Supervisor found her this afternoon when she didn't show up to check in for work."

We looked inside the warehouse to see the girl strung up in the middle of a room by her neck. The rope was lassoed around her and a dagger was stabbed to her chest holding a note to her body.

Sherlock looked at her and I walked around her as he did. She was around my age, obviously beaten by an attacker or attackers, died by either hanging or the blood loss due to being stabbed in the heart. The blood had pooled on the floor below her body creating a dark murky puddle reflecting the sun setting in the windows.

I rounded to the front of her to get a better look. "She was pretty." I muttered to myself. She really was. It was a shame she died. Especially in such a brutal way.

"She's dead John, you don't have a chance." I shook my head at him and looked back at the officer in charge who was just raising his brows.

I moved in closer to get a better look and see what the note read. It was placed on the end of the dagger to avoid the blood from her heart soaking it through. That much I could deduce.

Μην κλέβετε από τους κλέφτες

"What does it say?" I asked the room hoping someone would know.

"Mean klevete apo toos kleftes." That's what Sherlock sounded like to me. "Its Greek. Don't steal from thieves." He read it out and I could see the gears in his brain working. Suddenly his eyes lit up like fireworks and I could see him practically jumping for joy inside. I wanted to tell him to cool it because there was a dead body in front of us but he didn't even let me get there. "Oh god. Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!"

"What?" I was the first to ask.

"Pirates John!" He was running out of the room before I could even ask. The officer looked at me with the same confused look.

"I'll find out and we'll be sure to let you know." I told him as I ran after Sherlock. He was out on the barge looking at god knows what.

Apparently he came to that conclusion because of how they signed their letter. The dagger holding it to her heart had a small symbol on the end of it that he recognized from a band of Greek pirates who scavenged the Mediterranean Sea. He was excited because they had to have traveled to the UK for a reason. Someone, that Mary woman, stole something from them or was involved in it. He deduced that she was only involved and that the treasure was still out there.

It took my tired brain a moment to have the epiphany. I just remembered Mycroft mentioning how Sherlock wanted to be a pirate when he was a boy. This had to be his dream come true.

What a dream it turned out to be.

Apparently a very important mask had been stolen by the Greek museum in Athens. The mask was the _Mask of Agamemnon_, a mythological King who led the Greeks in the Trojan war. The mask was found by a man named Schliemann who was obsessed with finding proof of the mythological figures from the Trojan war to prove the war happened. When he found the mask he called it King Agamemnon's even though it really wasn't him. Something about the dates being too different. Sherlock was going pretty fast. The mask was still worth a ton of money.

I asked Sherlock why he knew so much about it and he replied with how he knew about all the treasures in the world because they would be the most fun cases if they were stolen. It would be hard enough to steal them in the first place so whoever did it would be a challenge to take down.

He figured out the mask in the museum had to be a fake and they were covering up losing the real mask. He knew the mask was what was fought about because of a drawing on the woman's desk in her office and her search history. He deduced that the pirates stole the mask and Mary stumbled upon it. She figured out what it was and her and a partner made a deal to steal the mask from the pirates and return it to Athens for a reward. The pirates of course caught her and all we had to figure out was who her partner was so we could get the mask from them and keep them away from the pirates.

Sherlock was obviously more in it for the treasure hunt than for returning the mask to the rightful owners but as long as the job got done and he was having fun. We found her partner and he, after a little Sherlock interrogation, told us where the mask was. We actually had to get it from the docks we had found Mary in. There was another warehouse that was his personal and the pirates hadn't thought to look there.

We found the warehouse easy enough and dug through all the boxes until he found it. Just as Sherlock lifted the mask into the sun we heard the sound of someone on the other side of the door.

"That does not belong to you." The man said with a heavy Greek accent. I really had though pirates would look different in this day and age. The man was a dark tan, raggy pants, some kind of leather jacket hiding a gun, and a sword. I didn't even think swords would fall into this equation.

"Nor you." Sherlock said with a smirk.

"Perhaps not." The pirate responded pulling out his gun and pointing it at Sherlock. "But I will take it anyway."

I reacted quickly getting my own gun out and pointing it at the pirate himself. He smiled over at me and shook his head. Then the door filled with at least a dozen more men dressed similar each with their own weapon.

"John put your gun down." Sherlock spoke to me, never taking his eyes off the multiple pirates blocking our exit, and I did as he said. Slowly he walked forward and gave the mask to the man holding the gun.

"Thank you." The Greek said nodding his head and turning to the men behind him. He yelled something I just couldn't understand and all the men started to walk away.

Sherlock ran out after them and I ran after him. However the genius managed it, I followed him and we snuck onto the ship they had without them knowing. Then Sherlock managed to trick the crew so that only the captain with the mask came on board. The plank was swiftly taken away by me while the others were distracted.

Then came the part that nearly gave me a heart attack.

The pirate warned that we had gone too far and that there was no point in keeping us alive. He tried to reach for his gun but Sherlock had already swiped it off of him and tossed it back at me. Instead the pirate grabbed for his sword and started swinging at Sherlock. Sherlock was able to find a sword laying around and tried as hard as he could to grab the mask as he fought for his life.

I was panicking as soon as the pirate took the first swing. The others were trying to find their way onto the ship, some were just firing random bullets. I would later find out Sherlock had already let the police know where to meet us.

Sherlock was surprisingly good though. Blocking every blow and even slicing a bit of the pirate's arm. I never expected that from him. Then again he was capable of a great deal.

"Where did you learn to fight with a sword?" I yelled trying to get a good aim with my gun but the pirate and Sherlock kept bouncing around, jumping off of things and never relenting.

"Fencing!" He yelled back as the metal clanged against each other and the pirate kept yelling Greek at him.

I heard the police sirens wailing soon enough and the fight with the crew turned towards the cars pulling up. I still couldn't get a good shot in though.

But the captain made a fatal mistake. He tripped back and Sherlock was able to grab the mask from him. In order to do it though he had to jump onto the side of the ship. Just as the mask was in his grasp the pirate pushed him and he fell off the side with the mask in his hand. "Sherlock!" I yelled as the gun ran out in my hand and I hit the pirate captain. He fell to the ground but I couldn't worry about him. I ran over to the side of the boat where Sherlock held the mask in his hand above the water.

"Sherlock are you okay?"

"Fine John! Meet me at the lower docks!" He yelled back up and started to swim for where he said. I put the plank back up to get off the ship safely, now that the police were battling the pirates. They looked to be doing just fine, a few in handcuffs, so I ran around to find if Sherlock was alright. I was sure the water couldn't be good for a mask that old but I didn't really care about that.

He was absolutely freezing when I pulled him out. He shrugged me off, even though his lips were blue and his teeth were chattering.

"Sherlock you need to warm up."

"I know what you are going to suggest John and it can wait until after they have the mask." He had to know the best way to warm up was through my body heat until we could get him under a hot shower.

When we reached the police and Sherlock was an absolute shivering mess, they had apprehended the suspects and we were able to get out of there and give them the mask without a fuss. We just had to go in the next day to give our statements.

I shoved Sherlock into our car and forced him to listen to me. If he didn't let me do a simple thing like hug him to keep him warm he was going to get a cold or pneumonia and that was not good for anyone. He begrudgingly listened to me and I was able to warm him skin to skin for a bit while the heat roared in the car. Soon my body heat was spent up so I drove us back to our hotel.

I ran a hot shower and pulled him in with me. He was so cold. I couldn't yell at him though. Not yet.

Not until we got home and he was sick with a fever for a week.

I didn't mind taking care of him though. He hated not being able to do anything but it was nice to play doctor and tell him what to do for a change. He needed to listen to me.

We just made a deal of no more falling off pirate's ships.

You know, in case it ever happened again.

* * *

As far as our physical relationship went, that only escalated. The kisses became more and more frequent and soon those kisses weren't enough. Things became more and more heated, especially when Sherlock found himself bored and while I was home with him continuously. When I had no work and he had no case, things escalated quite quickly. We hadn't gotten quite as far as actually sleeping together yet. I was afraid if we were together in that way then maybe Sherlock still wouldn't love me. I would be wrapped around his finger, more than I already was, and he could so easily break my heart.

I really was just a teenage girl stuck in a man's body with all these worrying thoughts.

I opened him up to the idea of cuddling. Every night we would cuddle in his bed, he stopped trying to get out of it. The only time I would let him was if he was on a case. Otherwise he had to try and sleep next to me. He didn't sleep as much as I liked but at least he was thinking next to me instead of alone in the living room.

* * *

Then there came the time when I had to decide about my antidepressants. I had been only taking them once a week but I was just running out of the bottle. I had the prescription available for refill but I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. I thought I should at least have some around. I would take one to make sure there wasn't anything different about them and then just keep them around for a time in case I ever got the feeling that things were shifting in my mind again.

I called in my refill at work, having returned even with Sherlock's protests, and made sure Sherlock was off at the lab while I went to pick them up. I had to go to St. Bart's to get them so I hoped I wouldn't run into him. He seemed perfectly occupied with his experiment work.

While at the hospital I did run into Tammy. I looked around to make sure Sherlock wouldn't pop out of a corner. She really would flirt with me and I always told Sherlock not to worry but he wouldn't listen ever. I was glad when I didn't see Sherlock there to yell at her.

She had accidentally run into me as I was leaving. She was in her regular clothes, obviously just heading into hospital in a rush, as her hair was thrown on top of her head and she looked like she had been running.

"Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry." She kept apologizing as she picked up my prescription and as I helped her pick up the papers she dropped on the floor.

"No, no it's alright." I said with a smile giving her work back to her. "Late?" She nodded her head and shuffled the papers back together. "Well I should warn you-"

"Sherlock's in the lab?" She asked with a frown. I nodded sympathetically. She sighed but soon turned back into her flirtatious self.

"And you're not going to come save me from his scrutiny?"

"Not today I'm afraid." I smiled back. I could have went with her but I only imagined it was worse for her when I was there.

"Call me to make it up to me, okay?" She said as she ran off and pointed at the prescription in my hand. I looked down and saw she had written her number on the back of the bag. I laughed to myself and looked up to say something but she was already gone. I just noted that I would have to throw it out before Sherlock saw. Or burn it.

When I got home I made myself dinner and started some for Sherlock too. He really was doing better with the eating. He was starting to fill out his figure better and his skinny naturally became lean. It was especially apparent to me now that we were so close. I saw much more of him than I had before.

When my tea was done and I had finished my dinner in front of the TV I opened up the prescription bag and took out my pills. Everything looked correct for the information on the outside, it was definitely my prescription. I took out the pill and tried to decide where to hide the rest. I hadn't been going in my room much lately so I thought that would probably be the best place.

I popped the pill back with my tea and started to clean up my dinner. I set Sherlock's food aside and put it in the microwave, waiting for him to come home. I checked my phone and sent him a quick text just to let him know, for the sake of it.

_Dinner in the microwave. You have to eat something. Have fun with the science and come home soon. - JW_

It was then that I started to feel a bit queasy.

I wasn't sure why. I had taken the pill with food like always. It never made me nauseous before. I sat down and grabbed the prescription looking for the pamphlet of information just to double check the side effects but then everything started to go very, very wrong.

Black spots started to form on the outside of my vision and they were getting bigger and bigger. My head was swimming and I felt sick to my stomach. Rippling pain spasmed from my spine, traveling the length of my body, making my head feel like it was on fire. Then everything faded, I couldn't remember where I was, and I fell completely off the chair and onto the floor. I was screaming at myself that something was wrong, that I should grab my phone and call someone. Call Sherlock. But it wasn't moving. I wasn't moving. My body wasn't responding and I couldn't see anything.

Then everything went black. Completely and utterly black.

Then there was nothing.

* * *

**AN: **You see what I did there? Not on my ship? Pirate ship?

If you don't appreciate my puns, no one will.


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: **Since you got the time hop with John, I'm going to skip most of it. We have things to get to people!

**PS -** I just learned that I will be studying in the UK next semester! Bah!

* * *

**Sherlock POV  
**

* * *

Seven weeks, five days since the decision I made to stay at 221B.

To stay with John.

I had no regrets in making that decision. Though I do not mean to suggest I am immune to the regrettable consequences affiliated with it.

As much as I would have liked to avoid the night spent with John's sister and her girlfriend it happened. I chose to remember it. I chose to remember the look on Harry's face as she told me of all the pain I caused and I chose to remember Anne's words about caring for John and leaving my guilt behind. If it was not beneficial to John, there was no point in acknowledging it.

I made a promise that night to be the man John needed me to be. Not that I would ever let anyone know those words came from Harriet Watson's mouth.

Unfortunately, habits are hard to break.

While John was around I wouldn't even think of the cocaine. It wasn't an issue. I would be the better man.

Then there were the times when he wasn't. When I shut him out. He would be around whenever I needed him to be and he would be gone if I so wished.

The time I broke was after that teen died at my hands.

It wasn't hard to figure out that Moriarty didn't want my return to be known to the public. It was part of the reason I could only take Yard cases. I didn't know how he was going to ward off the people he didn't have immediate control over, as he must have control over the public stations and papers. He would have control over John's blog and my website if he wanted but neither of us were using those.

Apparently the first person to make that mistake was to be his warning. A warning for me.

Any guilt that had managed to dissipate while with John overloaded at that boy's death. I had only myself to face about it. Being left with myself to face myself always led to the worst coming out of me. There was no John there to stop me. I was alone. Again.

John would wait outside my door most of the time, trying to call me out. What he didn't realize was that most of the time I was gone. Gone from the apartment, avoiding the CCTVs, or gone inside the world the drug provided me. I was spiraling down and there was nothing to stop me.

Nothing but John.

I had been sneaking back into my room from the fire escape with yet another purchase when I heard him talking again. It was annoying at that point. I couldn't deal with myself let alone deal with him knowing what I was doing. I didn't want him there to remind me of what I should be doing and that I was a despicable person for locking myself away. He wasn't exactly saying that per say though.

At this point John had done everything from begging, to screaming, to threatening for me to come out. I was blocking him out as best as I could but sometimes I could hear him yelling.

"...used to have a cat. My mom didn't like it." John was saying, not yelling. "Whenever we visited she used find a spray bottle and keep it on her at all times just in case. It was all black and she was superstitious. Black cats, mirrors, and salt. The cat didn't really like her either. Obvious as to why. If someone sprayed me in the face with water very time I saw them, I wouldn't like them either. Cat didn't like a lot of people really. Just me and my aunt. I think it was because we gave it attention. A chance. We'd still pet it even with the kicking and the scratching. It'd come around."

No, I wasn't interested because John was talking about a black cat. I was interested because he was talking. Something in his demeanor had changed. There was nothing that suggested an ulterior purpose or motive to try and get me out of my room. He was just talking. Talking for the sake of talking.

"My aunt would have liked you. It's too late to meet her now though. She passed away when I was overseas. I wonder what happened to the cat. I guess it's kind of late to be thinking about that. Not that I'm suggesting I want a cat. Especially not with you and your experiments. I'd wake up to find it dead on the table having eaten poisonous toothpaste or something like that. No, I'm perfectly content with the one creature I have who I need to constantly feed and look after. . . Not even going to yell at me for comparing you to a cat? That's fine. . . Well, it is getting late. I guess I'll head off to bed. Let me know if you need anything. I got you a new pack of cigs. They're on the table. You can get them whenever you want. I'll leave a microwave dinner out for you too. I hope you know how to work those. If you don't start answering my notes I'm going to knock the door down just to make sure you're actually eating. Well. . . G'night Sherlock. I'll be right upstairs."

It seemed stupid, and it probably was, but I knew then that I needed to stop myself. John was just talking. That was a huge problem. If he was just talking for the sake of talking, not even knowing if I was listening, that meant he was lonely. I promised never to let him feel lonely again. This had to of been what it was like when he was locked up inside his head speaking to the walls of the flat. Nothing good would come of it.

I left my room the next day, hiding away the cocaine I had and promising myself never to buy anymore. I meant it this time. I thought I had before, really I did, but this time it was so different. No guilt was going to stop me from giving into my cravings. It was the guilt that was going to help me ignore them.

I had three packets of cocaine left. One, to make sure I always had some. The second, half used from the day. The third I had walked in with. They all went into the hideaway and I locked it down. I would throw them away when I knew John wasn't around.

I was so sure I would.

Of course it wasn't true. Addiction could best even me. I hated that.

Every time I tried to rid myself of the things, they always stared me down, taunting me. I hadn't bought any more but even having them was a mistake. John found me one of those times.

I didn't lie. The only time I had taken it was when I had locked myself in my room for what was probably days. I didn't actually keep track of the time. Even having it was disappointing to John though.

So John did what John always does. He helped. Some kind of hero complex really but I wasn't going to be his therapist.

When he offered to take time off of work to stay with me, I didn't want him to. I knew I had always asked him, told him he could leave his job but I was scared. Scared he would really see who I was and who he was dealing with, what withdrawal really looked like, and he would leave. And scared that I would give in, that I wouldn't be the man he needed, that I would have to leave him because of how pathetic I really was.

I proved myself wrong. I should have known with John there all the time things would only get better.

For the first time I really did go cold turkey. It wasn't like the withdrawal I had been having around John. Not like how when I first got back or when I was hiding in my room, giving into the cravings. It was nothing like how it felt when I was laying next to John smoking. These symptoms were different. They were much too painful. Much too familiar. Flashes of my past would cross my mind only making it worse. It was all pain and obsession with nothing to feed it.

Then we found ways to take the edge off. Whether it be cases, or pack after pack, or other experimental resolutions. They all helped and I was able to regain some normalcy. As much normalcy as an addict can have. The itch would always be there.

John did get sick of me at points, just like I got sick of him.

The time around him provided an ample opportunity to get him back for what he did so long ago, preventing me from having my fun. I didn't end up ruining all his clothes like I thought I was going to. I had better means.

Since John and I were sharing a bed, it was much easier to move around him without him thinking something wrong. He became accustomed to the noise of me moving about. There were many nights when I would pace as he slept. There were also many nights were I would play his nightmares away on my violin. He wouldn't remember most of the time as I was able to catalog the normal reactions for when he was about to enter one. He was never going to have a nightmare again if I could help it.

One night he had fallen fast asleep a bit earlier than normal, passed out cold, and I was set off to work. First I took yarn and wrapped it all along the posts of the bed trapping him inside. He wasn't too claustrophobic and the yarn was high up enough anyway where he could feel comfortable enough.

Keeping a close eye to make sure he wasn't about to have any nightmares, though I doubted it, I moved to take all of his clothes out of the closet, along with mine. I was fine in what I was dressed in but I knew John wasn't going to be. He had been too tired to change and had only stripped himself of everything but his one size too small red underpants. They were not the thing he would feel comfortable wearing out into the street.

Which was exactly where I put everything.

I stuffed everything he could use to cover himself up with into some boxes and left them outside our doorstep. All but the bedding. I was confident he couldn't pull it out from the web of yarn.

I went back into our bedroom and planted the many alarm clocks I bought to go off every few minutes. I had ten of them set up and hidden about the flat. One particularly annoying alarm was set to go off from behind his old bedroom door, hooked up to amplify the sound. I had locked the door and taken the key for myself. He was going to have to break it down or find where I had hidden the key. The key decided to hide in the back of the freezer. Not in the food section.

I also couldn't resist stretching plastic wrap over the toilet seat as well.

After that point I figured that John would be too fed up to do anything but make breakfast and get some tea. I had taken the liberty of purchasing a plethora of very realistic looking body parts, ones he was used to being around the flat, and hid them amongst everything edible. They wouldn't be harmful in any way, the blood being edible and the plastic so obvious, but I was sure he wouldn't risk finding something to be real. Especially with the note I left.

_Mixed in a real finger with the fake ones. Happy hunting!_

Then I took the prank to what might have been considered too far. I took the tea. All of it. I hid it in the worst place of all. The place John couldn't reach. The very back of the very top of the book shelf. I wasn't so cruel as to get rid of all of it as I was sure John would need something to calm himself down.

These pranks were juvenal, not in the least bit creative, but I couldn't give John my best. I couldn't actually do psychological damage and I needed him to forgive me fast. I just needed some entertainment.

And yes, they were fun to watch.

When I finished I grabbed my laptop and went down the stairs to Mrs. Hudson's. I had camera's installed, minus the bathroom, just for this occasion. Audio included.

The first alarm, John's alarm, went off and the games began. He was completely confused at first, slowly poking at the yarn above his head. Calling out my name in confusion. Then his mood started to worsen as he fought his way through and started cursing. Mrs. Hudson scolded me for being mean but she was really chuckling along.

Then another alarm started to go off in the living room and he had to find that. As soon as he did, another alarm from the bedroom started going off. He quickly understood what was going on and it was fun to watch him go through all of that, completely frustrated and yelling my name more than once. It was especially amusing when he found out where all of his clothes, towels, and blankets were trapped. He debated for a good four minutes before deciding it wasn't worth it and moving away from the window.

More alarms went off and he found them all, all except the last which started blaring from his room upstairs. I didn't have a camera up there but I could hear him slamming his fist against the door. He ran down and started looking where we normally had the key. He was completely confused.

Then I texted him.

_**Need your help at lab. Come immediately - SH**_

He called immediately and I answered, for his sake.

"Yes John?"

"Sherlock Holmes I'm going to kill you!" He yelled and I covered the earpiece as I chuckled.

Mrs. Hudson had a hand over her mouth and she was shaking her head. "You boys are going to be the death of each other."

"Where are you?!" John was yelling back at me. I could hear the buzzing from the alarm in the bedroom going off continuously through the laptop and the phone and through the ceiling.

"At the lab, why? Is that the oven alarm John? I know you know how to shut that off."

"Oven alarm- Sherlock! Where is the key to my room?" He slammed more and more drawers looking.

"Wherever you last put it I'd imagine."

John pulled the phone away from his ear and looked as though he was about to throw it on the counter before pulling it back. "You're not at the lab. You'd want to watch this. Where are you? I like to make my death threats in person." He ran around half naked looking for me everywhere he could think of. There were only so many placed a grown man could hide in our flat.

"I told you John, I'm at the lab. If you want that key I'd imagine you'd have to look for it."

"I did look for it! I can't find it and if you don't tell me I swear to god I'm going to find you and-"

"Well if you want to find me you're going to come to the lab."

"I'm not leaving the flat Sherlock!"

"Why not?"

"Because some lunatic moved all my clothes outside!"

"Very good John. How did you deduce that?"

"I can see them from the window Sherlock! Just tell me where the damn key is!"

"Either way you're going to have to leave the flat. You won't last long without food."

"Yes and thanks for that." He ripped off the note from the fridge and started rummaging through the cabinets giving up on the drawers. "Tea too I see? Fantastic."

"Well just put on some of my clothes then."

He pulled the phone away from his ear so he could scream into the mouthpiece directly. "You know bloody well there is nothing here Sherlock!"

"Oh that's right. Well I'm sure the world won't mind. Red does seem to be your color. Matches your face right now."

"So you are watching." He swiveled around giving the flat another sweep with his eyes. No doubt also looking for my cameras. "Where-"

I hung up on him and watched as he flung his phone down into the sofa out of anger. It took him about five minutes before he decided to check on Mrs. Hudson. I made sure she didn't answer the door or let him know I was there. After giving up on that he went back upstairs but it only took another ten minutes before he was too frustrated with the horrible noise to stay. I knew he wanted to break his door down and I knew he wouldn't. He would either leave the flat until I came back or actually try and find me.

He stood by the door leading outside waiting for the opportune moment to go out when the least amount of people would see him. I waited by Mrs. Hudson's door until I heard him pop out and I slammed the door shut behind him. He gave me the absolute dirtiest look he could muster as I snapped a quick picture on my cell and dove back into Mrs. Hudson's room. He ended up slamming his fists on the door, keeping true to his death threats being in person. Mrs. Hudson left out the back to let us be.

That picture and that video were actually rather amusing, after John stopped being so mad. He was especially frustrated when he tried to use the bathroom upstairs. I half expected retaliation but never got it. I assumed that was because John would know I would only fight back harder. It was slightly disappointing.

Though, if we were stuck in prank wars continuously, it wouldn't be very productive for our relationship, something I had come to grips with. Things did not shift with him as dramatically as I expected. Nothing was different just because of a title. The things that did change were actually quite comfortable.

I hadn't analyzed the concept of love. I knew John felt that way about me but I still held true to the belief that love was destruction. If anyone only looked at how it affected people, even John. He was struck down because of the way he felt for me. Again and again.

Love was a disadvantage, one I couldn't afford. My feelings for John would not change that. Even if I let myself believe it was possible, just for a second. I did make that mistake more than once, believe that it could be possible for me to love him. The idea started creeping up on me and it would attack at the most random intervals. When John was making tea, admiring me on a case, helping solve a case, reading, sleeping, eating, walking, among other things. The idea almost slipped out once. I thought I handled that nicely though. I didn't need to have a complicated talk with John about it, not like how he would want. I was fine. I just ignored it.

Just because I ignored the concept of love, that did not mean I didn't care deeply for him. It was borderline disturbing how much I worried about him and wanted him to be happy. I was never so corrupted before. I didn't care anymore. If John was happy, I was.

I cared for him, he cared for me, I told him he mattered and all was well.

Was.

* * *

I was at the lab looking at tardigrades while waiting for the next hour to pass for the snake venom check. I was checking the effect of snake venom on human blood and other various organs in relation to temperature and time. Just because no one had killed with snake venom on a case I'd worked yet didn't mean it wouldn't happen.

It was something to do since John went back to work. I had already taken blood from him, without him knowing, every week and tested it at home and at the lab. There was nothing I could fine. I was really starting to believe Brine was just saying things to intimidate me.

I had to fill my time until the next case somehow.

With any luck _Tammy _wasn't going to show up even though she was scheduled to. After the next venom check I would leave and hopefully not run into her.

If I were ever so lucky.

"...John here?" It was Molly's voice but I hadn't paid attention to the first part of that question. I only heard John's name.

"What?"

"Tammy said she ran into John downstairs. About half hour ago or so. I was wondering why he didn't say hi."

_John at St. Barts, doesn't visit me. Doesn't want me to know. _

_Visits Tammy instead? _

_ No. _

_Not a hospital visit. _

_Pharmacy? _

_Drugs. More antidepressants. _

"No idea." I chose to tell Molly instead. She just nodded and popped into the next room.

Then I heard the heels.

I tried to ignore them as best as I could but in a blur she walked in front of my table across the room. Something was different.

_No coat. _

I looked up from my microscope to understand. She was glancing at something on a clipboard, facing me but not looking.

_Hair fully up. No glasses. Pants instead of provocative dress. Closed toed boots. Quickly dressed or needs fast getaway. _

She then walked forward, not noticing the glance I gave her.

She did, however, notice when I had her pinned down flat on the opposite lab bench, grabbed by the throat. She gave a gasp as I twisted her head to the side and got better look at what I had thought was a scar this entire time.

_Tattoo._

It wasn't just any tattoo. I had seen this tattoo. It was on the man I had been obsessing over ever since he spoke John's name. This was a family tattoo. This was the Brine family tattoo.

I knew I didn't like her.

Tammy, if that was her name, started to chuckle, the muscles in her neck convulsing under my grip. Molly walked in from the next room from behind and gave a yelp before running to my side. Tammy was still laughing, twisting her head back to look at me and turning her body to rest half on the bench I leaned her over. No doubt the edges were digging into her spine. I pressed harder.

"Took you long enough." She laughed again and looked towards Molly with a wicked grin.

_Weapons? None._

"Sherlock? What's going on?" Molly's scared voice sounded from behind me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell with my free hand, remembering Molly's had died not five minutes before. I was beginning to wonder if that was an accident.

"Call Lestrade." I held the phone over to her and she tentatively took it from me. "Tell him there is someone here he will probably want to meet. And arrest."

I didn't see if she agreed but she started walking towards the door. "I'll get security!" She called over her shoulder as she pushed through and walked down the hall. It was good that she was being helpful when I needed her to be. Not many were like that.

"I didn't know Connor had a sister." I said to the woman beneath me. I did not relent my hold on her throat as she struggled. She was not pushing to get free, just uncomfortable, but I was on watch for when she would try to escape. I wasn't letting her out of my sight.

"Half sister. Technically." She added a smile as I continued my gaze. Her heart rate had quickened since I placed my hand over her throat, I could feel with my fingers, but it was not the usual amount of panic expected when faced with death. She was hiding something.

"Why today?"

"Why today what?" She asked with another smile as if to say she knew what I was asking already.

"You've worn your hair down every day since you've worked here, since I've been around, hiding your neck. Why today?"

"Because today is a special day baby." She bit her lip in the way she always did when speaking to John as she raked her eyes over my body. I wouldn't give any sign as to how disturbing that felt from her.

"Why?"

"Oh I think you can figure that one out."

_Dressed for on the run. Shows identity. Expects to run. Run. Ran into John. She ran into John today. The day John came to St. Bart's without telling me._

"What did you do to him?" I growled as my nails bit down into her skin and I could feel the ribbed lining of her trachea against my palm. I had to remember not to actually kill her. Cops were on the way and it wouldn't look good at this point.

She laughed again but coughed a bit at the sudden lack of air flow. "Oh, don't give me all the credit. It was a team effort really." I released the slightest of pressure to allow her to talk, making sure she was still pinned. "Connor had the issue with you first. Well, you did kill of the closest thing he ever had to a father. Moriarty let it slip how close you were to John a while ago. It was Connor's idea to keep tabs on him for a bit. Figure out what he wanted to do. Then there was the issue you caused me in Boston."

_Boston? Drug ring. Woman boss. _

"We were just going to threaten him a little. Kidnap maybe. Just so you'd back off. Then you go and kill my brother." The angrier she got the harder she bit down and the tighter her muscles tensed under my hand. He heart rate started to increase dangerously fast. It was pointless to tell her I wasn't actually the one who killed him. "So how can I ignore that? No, just a little threat wasn't going to cut it! See Sherlock, you ruin things. You ruined everything!" Tears were form and slide from the corners of her eyes. "So why not make it so you are just as ruined? Why not ruin you?" She started the absurd laugh again. "No one told me he was so cute though. I almost feel bad. Not really though. He's a bit too nice for me. Plus he's hopelessly in it for you. He wouldn't bite at all." She stopped talking and continued to glare, only struggling slightly. She wasn't continuing. She didn't say what she did to John. Only that she hurt him. That she wanted to ruin me.

"What did you do?" I squeezed harder physically restraining myself from crushing her windpipe. She had to tell me.

"Would you rather stay and see where the fun takes us or help John?" She cackled again before having another coughing fit. "He mustn't have much time left."

I quickly ran through the options in my head landing on the only one I could.

_John. _

I had to get to John. I wanted nothing more than for Tammy to pay for whatever she did to him but I had to find out what that was and make sure he was safe first. Molly was probably right on the way with security, she could give an accurate description. She also had my phone which meant I couldn't call John to see if he was okay or to call for any sort of help. I didn't have the time.

I ran.

I ran as fast as I possibly could, not seeing Molly or Lestrade. I just ran. I ran out and grabbed the first taxi I saw, pulling the young man sliding in out of the way, and grabbing his phone in the process as I slid into the back in his place. He may have yelled but I didn't hear.

"Hey you can't-"

I cut off the driver, "221B Baker Street. Now! Run every red, speed, I don't care! I will pay you quadruple and I will get you out of every ticket and you will not lose your job just go! Now!"

"Yes sir." The man sped off from the curb and slammed his foot down on the gas. I was temporarily thrown back in the seat but it didn't stop me from quickly drumming out John's number and calling.

**Ring. **

**Ring. **

**Ring.**

**Ring. **

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

The driver kept to what I said and sped past everything. We were going to make it in record time.

John still wasn't answering.

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**_You've reached John Watson. Please leave your-_**

I pulled the phone away and typed in the emergency number. I cut off the operator before they even had a chance to ask.

"I need an ambulance at 221B Baker Street! Right away!"

"Sir, what's-"

"Hurry!"

I hung up the phone and tried John again.

**Ring. **

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**_You've reached John-_**

**Ring. **

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**_You've reach-_**

**Ring. **

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

******Ring.**

**_You've-_**

Nothing.

I tried Mrs. Hudson but her phone was turned off. The house phone still wasn't working.

I tried him again.

**Ring. **

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**_You-_**

I could see Baker nearing and I kept my hand on the handle waiting until we slowed enough to get out. The taxi barely pulled up before I was out the door. I could hear the ambulance sirens already. They were just around the corner.

I bolted through the door, leaving the taxi cab door open, and hurled myself up the stairs.

I scanned the living room and saw nothing.

"John!" I screamed into the empty space before jumping through to the kitchen. Then everything crumbled away. A giant pit opened up in my chest. There he was, laying on the kitchen floor with a chair toppled over next to him. I could see his phone just at his fingertips, just out of reach. "John!" I quickly knelt next to him and took his pulse. It was there, running erratically. I bent down to check his breathing.

He wasn't.

I automatically tilted his head up and parted his mouth searching for any obstruction. There was none. There was just no breathing. No breathing meant brain cells dying. Without hesitation I bent down and breathed into his mouth keeping his nose closed shut.

"Come on John!"

I did it again and again screaming for him to wake up in my head until someone shoved me aside. I was about to scream at them before I realized it was a paramedic. They were doing what I had just done, taking his pulse and checking for breathing. It was a waste of time. They had to take him!

They strapped the breathing apparatus to his mouth and nose and started to pump in the air that way as another man placed a giant board next to him on the floor. They heaved him on top and started to walk him down the stairs. I ran to follow but realized I needed to find out what was wrong.

John got his antidepressants at the hospital. That was the only thing different about that day.

I searched quickly over the kitchen and found them on the counter next to a new pharmacy bag. On the bag were numbers written out. Enough for a phone number.

I grabbed the bag and the pills and quickly headed towards the ambulance. Just as I reached the outside I could see the doors being shut and the man climbing back to the front. I ran to tell them I needed to be with him, to let me in the back, but they were already pulling away. I ran back into the cab and yelled at the driver again, "Follow that!"

"Yes Mr. Holmes!" The cabbie yelled, pulling away and speeding after the ambulance.

I quickly dialed out the number on the phone as we traveled the short distance to the nearest hospital. They wouldn't be as accommodating as St. Bart's with me but we needed to get John breathing again. Once he was breathing I could work on finding out what was in the pills. I looked them over but they didn't look any different on the outside. That was to be expected.

**Ring. **

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

**Ring.**

"Hello?" A very familiar female voice answered the line far too cheerfully.

"What have you done to him?" I growled at the Brine. She did that infuriating laugh again.

"So he was still alive then? Good. I was hoping he would be. He won't be for long."

"What did you give him?"

"So you're with him then? Tell your driver he should really keep his eyes on the road. He might miss something."

She hung up and as I looked out the front window I saw what she meant.

A thundering explosion rang out and the ambulance in front of us jumped in the air and crashed hard onto its side skidding into the nearest pole. A trail of gasoline had already caught on fire from the explosion underneath. I ran out of the cab as quick as I could, leaving the phone behind.

I only had moments if I was going to get him out of there.

I reached the burning bus and pulled the doors open with every bit of adrenaline I had. One of the paramedics that had lifted John was broken and mangled against the roof. John was on the side that had flipped face down. His straight board had been undone, thrown to the other side, and he was unmoving against the metal.

I ran in and made sure he wasn't connected to anything before spinning him around and pulling him out. He still had the breathing apparatus on and I made sure to bring it with me. I lifted him as best I could off the ground and back towards the open door of the cab. Someone behind me was helping the other man and more sirens rung. I didn't worry about that. I worried about the man in my arms.

I pushed him into the back of the seat and climbed behind to continue helping his breathing.

"Nearest hospital that isn't this one!" I yelled to the driver who automatically pulled away. If she planned the attack for this hospital, it wasn't a good idea to lead him in there.

I leaned forward to check his pulse and I could see how broken the ambulance crash made him. Instead of only being unconscious and not breathing, he now had blood and gashes from medical instruments strewn about. He probably had a broken rib or two and his leg didn't seem to look right.

We reached the hospital within a minute and the cabbie parked somewhere he was definitely not supposed to. He jumped out of the car before me and opened the door as he ran forwards into the hospital. "We need help!" I could hear him scream as I tried to better position myself behind John's head to pull him out of the cab without damaging him further. Soon the cabbie was back helping me and moments later we had actual medical staff surrounding us and shooing us away. I tucked the phone and pills and bag into my pocket and ran after him as they loaded him onto a cart and started wheeling him down the halls.

Then they tried to tell me I couldn't go past the double doors.

_No._

I pushed the nurse out of the way and started to follow. Two more nurses joined and I pushed again. Then more nurses and doctor personnel all yelled at me to stay and tried to physically hold me. I only managed getting one last look at John before they wheeled him around a corner. I screamed and tried to run forwards again but yet another doctor added into pushing me back. I screamed and screamed but they weren't listening.

"He's been poisoned! Here! These!" I pushed the pill bottle out of my pocket. "Before the crash he took one of these!"

No one seemed to be understanding but someone did reach out to grab the bottle from me. I popped it open and grabbed a few out before handing it over completely. I would find the labs and I would figure it out for myself.

No doubt Tammy would find out where we were and have it tampered with. I would have to figure it out fast and then be with John at all times.

He was not going to die. Not on my watch.

The crowd of personnel left me and I turned to walk back towards the doors. Then another doctor came and took the pills from my hand.

"No! I need those! I need to run tests!" I screamed but only more restrained me. "Don't you understand?! Let me go! I'm the only one that can help him! John!"

I lashed out again and felt a fist collide with something that was flesh.

The next thing I knew, I felt a slight pinch and everything started to fade.

_Sedative._

* * *

I had woken on top of a hospital bed, my coat laying near my feet, Mycroft sitting in a chair. In the short time I was out he had come and found me. He had taken care of everything, like usual.

I had only one thought on my mind when I woke up. I needed to see him.

"This way." Mycroft said as he led me down a twist of halls to John's private room.

There he was unconscious and laid out under a blanket, hooked up to multiple beeping machines. The blood was cleaned off him so he didn't look as bad as when we brought him in but he still didn't look right. His chest still wasn't moving.

"He has two cracked ribs on his left side. One cracked on his right. Nothing else was broken. Sprained ankle. A few cuts that were easy enough to fix and a concussion." Mycroft informed me while I moved in closer.

"They took the pills. What he took. What she gave him. They took them. We need-"

"Already taken care of." Mycroft cut me off with a raise of his hand. I returned my gaze to John's face. There was a large scrape on his temple cutting near his eye, swelling. It was the most visible injury with the blanket covering him. "I have my best working on it. I trust them." I nodded because I would have to trust them too. There was no way I was leaving John's side. Not with Tammy on the loose. She was a Brine the Brine's worked for Moran. I had to be vigilant. Anyone could come. "I have eyes on the hospital at all times. This room as well. No one will get in." Mycroft named my fears.

"On the prescription bag there is a phone number. It is her phone number." I didn't bother yet with explaining who I was talking about. Mycroft probably already knew. I grabbed it out of my pocket and handed it to him. "Though its probably too late because they made me unconscious!" She was probably half way across the country.

"When we first scanned her she didn't turn up as a threat in our records. We have her real name now. I'll be sure to get Gregory here and fill him in on her aliases." I nodded. That was all I could do.

"The cabbie I came here with." I called out trying to remember all that had happened that he wouldn't already know about. "He knew my name."

"Already spoke to him. He presents no threat. Apparently his wife is a big fan. She followed his blog." Mycroft nodded towards John and I nodded again not really sure what to say.

"I assume you know of the explosion."

"Working on it."

I pulled up a chair from the room and Mycroft left me alone.

I ran my eyes over John's unconscious form, cataloging all the cuts and bruises and injuries. Everything that was my fault. I grabbed John's hand in mine, sliding a hand over his bruises. Foolishly wishing my fingers worked like erasers.

"John," I called half hoping he would open his eyes. I knew it wouldn't happen though. "John Watson. I don't know if you can hear me but you should. You are not going to die. I don't know what she did to you but she will pay. I will find her and she will pay. I promise you." I squeezed his hand again but there was no response. He wasn't there. He couldn't hear. "You can't leave me John." A harsh swallow cleared my throat of the lump it had created. I couldn't do anything for him. He couldn't hear me. "You can't. I love you."

He didn't wake up.

* * *

Mycroft came back not ten minutes later.

"Pancuronium bromide." He said with a grim nod.

_Muscle relaxant. Causes paralysis. Stops breathing. Used in executions._

_If given without sedative, user is still awake._

_Awake and paralyzed. _

"He's awake." I said horrified. The crash, everything, was meant to be when he was awake. To know he was suffocating and not be able to do a thing about it. To lay on the ground with his phone so close, unable to reach. I was meant to be in that ambulance with him. That was what Tammy meant. He was supposed to hear me calling out for him and I was supposed to realize after he died that he could hear me.

"I'm afraid so. They didn't want to give a sedative until they knew what was in his system. They will give him a sedative and pain killers now. He will fall into sleep if he hasn't already."

_From the pain._

"The edrophonium will help cut down the effects. After that we just have to wait." Mycroft nodded again and left me alone as his men and women came in to do a check on the drugs and injected it themselves.

"I'm so sorry." I whispered to him before they gave him the sedative. Just in case he could hear.

It was all my fault. He was too close to me. All of this was my fault.

People came and left at random intervals. I didn't bother with each of them, ignoring the ones who asked me how I was doing or trying to comfort me. I didn't need comfort. I didn't even look at them after deducing if they worked for Moran. None did. So I didn't think anything special when the door opened again.

"My, my, my. Death looks good on you!"

I knew that voice anywhere. Bouncing up and down, scratching at the insides of my mind. Far to pleased sounding for any good purpose.

_Moriarty_.


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: **Warning because this would be absolutely terrifying if it happened to you. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Short chapter now and next. They deserve to be their own and not mixed.

* * *

**John POV**

* * *

There was nothing. No response. Nothing.

I wanted to reach out to my phone. I could feel the base of it touching the tips of my fingers. But I couldn't move them. I couldn't move anything.

I pushed and pushed and pushed to try and open my eyes but they wouldn't budge. The black stayed.

My breathing kept getting shorter and shorter as my heart pounded in my ears. I could hear everything going on. At first it sounded like nothing, then the lack of sight really set in and everything was amplified. I could hear each car passing, talking on the street, the fridge kicking on again. What I couldn't hear was anyone coming. Mrs. Hudson was no where to be heard and Sherlock was still at the lab.

I pleaded inside my head that he could just tell that something was wrong. That he would come home. That he would bring help.

_Please Sherlock!_

Then I heard my phone ring. I tried to reach it, to click it, to answer, to touch it. Nothing was moving. I was screaming at my hand to move the mere inch it needed but it wasn't. Not even a twitch. So the phone kept ringing. Ringing and ringing and ringing.

Then, as if I wasn't panicked enough, my breathing shortened even further. Slower and slower the air entered my lungs and I knew it.

I was dying.

I probably only had minutes left.

The phone went off on another cycle of rings.

_Sherlock I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I love you. Please, don't find me like this. _

I would hate it if he found me dead on the floor. He wouldn't know what to do. He'd tear up half of London.

I wanted to chuckle at the idea of a giant Sherlock rampaging London but I was sure that was the lack of air-to-brain talking.

The ringing continued.

I could feel my last breath leave me and as much as I tried to pull in another, it wasn't happening. My heart pounded louder in my ears until it was replaced by the screeching of tires. I heard ambulance sirens in the distance and I heard our front door bang open.

_Thank god. Thank god. Thank god. I knew you'd find me! Sherlock!_

"John!" I heard Sherlock yell from the stairs.

_In the kitchen you idiot!_

My lungs were screaming at me. I knew I was going to verge on actually passing out if he didn't reach me soon. He would know how to fix it. He would know what happened.

"John!" I heard him call as he found me and ran towards my side. I could feel his feet against the floor and the warmth of his body as he knelt over me. I could feel his fingers touch my wrist and hover over my nose. I knew what he was checking for. I tried more than anything to speak to move, to let him know I knew he was there. To tell him it would all be alright. I could hear the ambulance getting closer, it would be alright. Even if he only knew I loved him. He just had to hear that. One last time. I never said it enough.

The lack of senses really caused my heart to jump when I felt his lips fall on mine. A large puff of air entered my lungs and they stopped screaming for a moment. I wasn't going to fall into unconsciousness. I wasn't going to allow it. Not now that Sherlock was there.

"Come on John!" He yelled at me again as he sent more air to my lungs. I could hear the ambulance doors opening and closing and the sound of feet pattering up the stairs.

I heard two people enter the room and felt Sherlock move from me. Something was strapped around my face and I felt more, cooler, air being forced into my lungs.

"What happened?" A man at my feet asked Sherlock. He didn't answer. He was probably too in shock. "Sir are you alright?" No answer again. Now I started to worry about him. I was laying paralyzed on the kitchen floor, needing help with my breathing, and I'm the one worrying about him. As per usual.

"On the count of three." Someone near my head said. "One, two, three-" I was lifted up and strapped down onto a flat surface. I could feel my body shift as I was lifted into the air and carried down the stairs.

I knew instantly when we reached the street. All the noise and sounds and smells impacted my senses all at once. I was overloaded and I could still hear the thumping of my heart drowning out my ears. More puffs of air were given to me as I was lifted up into what I assumed was the back of the ambulance. The light of the sky darkened to the light in the box from what I could see behind my refusing eyelids.

I felt someone next to me but it wasn't Sherlock. I didn't know where he went. I assumed he was coming any moment. Then I heard the doors shut and the bus started to move.

_Wait! Sherlock isn't here yet!_

It didn't matter. My lips weren't moving.

Sherlock was going to throw a fit.

I felt the ground rumble beneath me but started to grow concerned. I should have been hooked up to something. A heart monitor, an IV, something. There was no one doing that though. The paramedic was just working on my breathing.

_You're done with that! Make sure I'm not gonna die won't you?!_

Then something worse happened.

I felt fingers working shakily at the straps that connected me to the board and the bed underneath it. One strap after another started to become undone as the harnesses fell to the side.

_What are you doing?!_

That was not supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to be unharnessed until we reached the hospital.

I felt the man's hand rest on my chest, still slightly shaking. He controlled my breathing one last time before leaning down. I could feel a tear hit against my neck and his breath coming out shaky.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

_Not good. Not good. _

_Sorry for what? _

What could he have to be sorry for? Why was he undoing my harness?

All too fast a deafening explosion rang out from beneath us. My body lurched, sliding on the board under my back, as the transport beneath me lifted into the air. I heard the other members in the car yell out and I would have as well if I could. We were thrown around, tossed as the car lost its gravity. I fell to my left, straight off the table and into the other man, as we were chased by the back board and all other loose instruments inside. We both crashed into the roof of the car, his foot slamming hard into my chest. My own foot hit hard at an awkward angle and I screamed internally at the crunching feeling that both impacts caused. Before I had a second to think I was tossed back to the side, my face slamming into the metal of the inside. A wringing pain sounded out from my temple. Then we stopped.

I felt pain everywhere. My arm was beneath my chest, pushing into what I expected were badly bruised or broken ribs. My ankle still felt twisted and the throbbing pain was coming from there. I felt blood seeping out from the cut in my temple and I swore I felt stings along the bare parts of my arms. Everything hurt from the impact. I would have a full body bruise most likely.

I still couldn't push myself up. The breathing apparatus kept my face off the ground completely but no one was there to work it. I couldn't move my arms up to work it myself. I still wasn't breathing. My chest wasn't working. I couldn't move anything. It was all just terrible pain radiating from my core. My lungs started screaming again as I wanted to gasp at the pain and breathe it away. I couldn't breathe it away at all. I couldn't breathe.

_So close. I'm so sorry Sherlock. _

I was glad he didn't end up in the bus with me. Though he would of known it was coming. He would have figured it out. Doesn't mean he could have stopped it. I would rather he not be injured like this. No need for us both to die.

I assumed it would take another few minutes before anyone found us. With an explosion like that, there was a good chance something was on fire. No one wanted to go near a car on fire. Even if they did find us, we would be blown to bits. Nothing to save then.

I willed myself to pass out. There was no need for me to feel that explosion. Unable to move, just burn.

If I couldn't get a breath in, which it didn't look like I would, then I would pass out. I just needed to wait it out. It would all be over with soon.

Every thought kept revolving back to Sherlock. He was out there and he was alive. And he was going to find me dead.

_I'm so sorry._

I mentally shook the thought and started to focus on him happy. I wasn't going to die with the image of him miserable.

I flashed back to the first time I met him, when Mike had brought me over. How he picked up on every little detail about me. How his eyes roamed over me and everything in the world. Over all the crazy times we had had together. All the fights. All the cases. The near multiple times I left because he drove me mad but I always came back. The times he would deliberately send a woman away from me. Every smile he ever had.

I couldn't help myself from thinking about the less pleasant. About his fall. About all that pain. About begging him to come back.

I wondered if he would be like that. If he would come to my grave. Would he?

I also thought about what that fall caused in me. How I felt when I realized I loved him. How right it was. How painful. All the hallucinations there by my side. I wondered if I could open my eyes if I would see one. Just before I went. One to let me know everything was alright and that he would be there with me. Till the end.

Then I remembered what it felt like when he came back. How I had sworn he wasn't real. It seemed silly now. How he had made me realize he was real. How I had fought him but really only wanted to hold onto him and never let him go. How he sat by me at night. How he agreed to be with me. How he fought every day to be a better man. How we slept by each others sides. How he hogged the blankets. How happy we had become together.

_I'm so sorry. I love you._

The last thing I had said to him was in a text. It wasn't saying I love you. It was telling him to come home and eat.

The last thing I actually said was when I left for work. I said,_ "I'm off to work you lazy git. Try not to sleep the whole day away."_ I had kissed him as he was wrapped up in the covers. He mumbled back that I should stay. He blindly reached out and pulled me down and I had laughed as I pushed him away. I told him I had to go. I kissed him again and I left.

Why didn't I just stay?

I had been at the hospital. I could have just seen him. But no, I had to go behind his back. I didn't see him. I didn't even say hi.

Everything jolted and I screamed out in pain, if only in my head.

Everything was moving around me. I was being carried off.

I was lifted and a rippling pain tore apart the inside of my chest. I was being carried but it wasn't doing anything good for my chest at the thumping of every step. I felt some kind of leather slide against my back as I was pushed against something. I heard a door close and finally someone had started my breathing again. It was nothing like a real breath but it kept me there and I could hear.

"Nearest hospital that isn't this one!"

That was Sherlock's voice. I should have realized he was the one who picked me up. Though he was a bit skinny, I never really would have thought of him first. Then I felt his long fingers against my throat checking my pulse. Then I could feel him.

We were moving again in something much smaller. I assumed a taxi if he was giving instructions. That or one of Mycroft's cars.

He found me.

We jolted to a sudden stop and I wanted to cry out again. I had no muscles to tense to stop the pain coming from the movement. Doors opened and I felt Sherlock moving me again. I felt my head rest against his chest and I wished for a moment it could just stay there. That I wouldn't need to move again but I did. I was picked up again and put on another hard board surface and wheeled off.

I heard Sherlock follow and I knew we were inside a hospital. Relief flooded over me at the realization that I could be okay. Sherlock had found me and we were at a hospital. Whatever happened to me would be found out.

I was wheeled around a corner and into another room as doctors or nurses started the poking and prodding. I was shoved in an MRI by the sound of it.

The pain was really overwhelming and I wanted to pass out, black out, just for the time being. Until I could see Sherlock again. But my military training was kicking in. It screamed at me to stay conscious, no matter what pain. So there I was awake, while they wrapped my cracked ribs and I could move no muscle to stop them. They also did the same to my ankle, the one that had been throbbing, but it didn't hurt nearly as much. My head was still pounding and I could feel them cleaning up multiple cuts by the stinging but I couldn't tell much else without sight.

I heard everyone talking at once so nothing really stood out as clear to me. I heard I had three cracked ribs and a sprained ankle. I knew about the cuts. I knew about the lack of breathing. I also figured about the concussion as they opened my lids for me and waved a light in front of my eye. What they kept saying was that I was unconscious. But really I wasn't.

_I'm awake you idiots!_

Then I heard something about pills and a crazy man being sedated. I wanted to laugh. That was Sherlock probably.

I was moved to another room and they hooked me up to more machines. The hard backboard was replaced with a bed. The breathing apparatus was removed and replaced with another. I was lifted on a pillow and declared stable. Then they left and I was left to wait.

The pain was horrible and I was fading out again but every time I got close to being unconscious, my subconscious would yell and I'd be right back up. I tried to move at periodical points but it never worked. I just thought about what could have caused this. I knew it was my antidepressant. That much was obvious but what was it? Who did it? I imagined it would have something to do with Victor or Moron or even Moriarty. Why were they attacking now though? Why was I still alive if they were?

After a while of being stuck in my own head and stuck in my own body, I heard Mycroft and Sherlock enter the room.

"He has two cracked ribs on his left side. One cracked on his right. Nothing else was broken. Sprained ankle. A few cuts that were easy enough to fix and a concussion." Mycroft's very list-like description reached my ears. He was far off, probably in the doorway.

"They took the pills." Sherlock was closer just at the end of my bed. I half wished he wouldn't see me in the state I was but there was nothing I could do. "What he took. What she gave him. They took them. We need-"

_She? Sherlock who is she?_

"Already taken care of." Mycroft cut me him off. "I have my best working on it. I trust them." So they didn't know what was wrong with me still? "I have eyes on the hospital at all times. This room as well. No one will get in."

"On the prescription bag there is a phone number. It is her phone number."

Prescription bag?

_No Sherlock that's Tammy's number. She was being funny. Unless... Tammy? No. She wouldn't. She's harmless._

Then I thought about the trip I actually made. She was the only one I ran into with the pills. She was the only one there. She had them in her hand.

"Though its probably too late because they made me unconscious!" Sherlock yelled to the room. Ignoring what I had just found about someone I thought a friend, I did want to laugh at the idea of Sherlock being sedated. If I were those doctors, I would avoid him.

"When we first scanned her she didn't turn up as a threat in our records. We have her real name now. I'll be sure to get Gregory here and fill him in on her aliases."

_Real name? Shit. _

That meant Tammy then. At least Greg was going to come. If he and Sherlock talked more I could find out more by listening. I had nothing better to do.

"The cabbie I came here with. He knew my name."

So it was a cab. Not Mycroft's car. He picked up fast though.

"Already spoke to him. He presents no threat. Apparently his wife is a big fan. She followed his blog."

I wish I could have met him. I didn't meet that many fans of the blog anymore. It would have been nice. I could have explained why there were no new entries.

"I assume you know of the explosion."

"Working on it."

I heard the scrape of a chair being pulled and heard the door shut as I assumed Mycroft left the room. I jumped, internally, as my hand was grabbed by Sherlock. It was much too gentle, too comforting. I must not have looked all that good. I felt his fingers trickling over my skin, making the pain seem less dull in the places he touched.

I pushed even harder to open my eyes, to let him know I was there. Of course it didn't work. I could only just feel and listen as air was forced down to my lungs.

"John." Sherlock's voice called out to me, much more broken than I ever wanted to hear. I screamed at myself just to move a finger. To squeeze his hand back. To do something! "John Watson. I don't know if you can hear me but you should."

_I can! I can hear you!_

"You are not going to die. I don't know what she did to you but she will pay. I will find her and she will pay. I promise you." He squeezed my hand again and I felt a small amount of pain surface from the bruising. It didn't matter. I just wanted to squeeze back.

"You can't leave me John."

_I'm not leaving you Sherlock. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere._

"You can't."

He sounded far too broken. I couldn't stand to hear him getting choked up.

"I love you."

It was barely a whisper but my sensitive ears picked it up.

_You love me? You idiot! You tell me now?! I'm paralyzed in a hospital bed, you think I'm unconscious, and now is the first time you tell me?! When did you figure this out? Why didn't you tell me sooner? I could have died! You complete and udder moron. _

_I love you too. _

We stayed like that, not that I had much choice in the matter. He sat there running fingers over my arm and I laid there with oxygen being pumped into me. Happiest I'd been, ignoring the small voice that said he only said it because he thought I was dying.

Mycroft came in within a few minutes or so.

"Pancuronium bromide." I heard him say, though I had no idea what that was.

"He's awake." Sherlock stated far too empty.

_No, no, no, no, no! Don't tell him that!_

He knew. He knew I was awake. He knew I was awake for all that pain. He knew I heard him.

"I'm afraid so. They didn't want to give a sedative until they knew what was in his system. They will give him a sedative and pain killers now. He will fall into sleep if he hasn't already. The edrophonium will help cut down the effects. After that we just have to wait."

Painkillers sounded rather nice. I didn't want to loose consciousness but if I couldn't do anything but wait, I supposed sleep was a good way to pass the time. I hated leaving Sherlock by himself but there was no way for me to object.

I heard many people enter the room and an IV was put into me. Many bodies crowded around checking my vitals again but I could pick out Sherlock who was leaning over me, his mouth directly over my ear.

"I'm so sorry."

_You have nothing to be sorry about. I'll see you when I wake up. _

I counted down in my head.

_10, 9, 8, 7... _

Then everything really went black and I was lost to unconsciousness.

Finally.


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: **One word in my book to describe Moriarty... yummy.

Short chapter again but you get it fast.

* * *

**Sherlock POV  
**

* * *

The sound of his soft sole shoes against the hard linoleum floor echoed in the room as he walked into my peripheral vision on the other side of the bed. I kept my eyes on John but tilted my head, if only slightly, to make sure I could see if Moriarty was planning to do anything. He looked remarkably similar to how he looked on the day he "died".

_Expensive black suit. Full with tie pin.  
_

_Hands in pockets. No weapons. _

_No tan. Indoors often. _

_Head still intact. _

"Then again I could say the same for me." He continued. "I guess great minds really do think alike. And what a great mind we have."_  
_

"How did you get in here?" Mycroft had the building closed down. This was not meant to happen.

He made a sound of disapproval. "A magician never reveals their secrets."

I peaked at the camera in the corner of the room and decided to buy my time until someone caught on. Nothing good would come from me causing a fight so close to John while he was injured. He could be injured even more. Or worse.

"And you're not a magician. You didn't pay them off. Not these guards. Didn't kill them or there would be a lot more yelling. No distraction would bring them away from this door. You had to trick them. How?"

"You'd be surprised what a bit of flirting and a background in forgery can get you. Doctor Karl Hellfern at your service." He gave a slight bow and continued to stare me down. I refused to look at him but he continued his stare.

Impersonating a doctor would be easy enough but how did he get in without Mycroft noticing?

"You snuck in even before we got here." I shook my head at the obvious answer. He knew this was going to happen.

He would have known I'd take John to a different hospital and be unable to reach any other. That or he could have had the chance to pay the taxi driver subtly. Either way we still ended up in this situation. Moriarty was probably waiting around and actually saw us all come into the building. He could have even been in the room John was brought into when I was unconscious. He could have been in the room with me when I was unconscious too.

"Isn't it just like a surprise party?"

I believe it was because I was so unamused that he chuckled.

I thought about asking how he had managed to change into a suit without anyone seeing or questioning him and about how he had gotten under the nose of the door guard but I was not underestimating him. He would be able to do it.

"What do you want?" I cut to the chase and gripped John's hand a little harder, willing him to stay under for just a bit longer.

"I just wanted to see for myself." He walked around the end of the bed, behind my chair and rounded to the other side of it all while continuing his explanation. "The great Sherlock Holmes! Dead man walking! Love sick like a little puppy." He leaned down next to my face and started barking like a dog as he rounded to the front of my chair, forcing himself in front of me. I continued to look at John and as I did he started to reach out a hand to him.

"Don't touch him." I warned, fairly deadly. I would have no one touching John if I could help it. No one needed to touch him but me anymore.

"Ohho possessive aren't we?!" He skipped away from the bed and walked back around to the other side, running his hands along the outside of the bed, just out of reach of John. Just to annoy me. "You should have kept your pet on a tighter leash." He reached the top of the other side of the bed and leaned down directly over John's face, staring between the medical ventilator and John's chest more times than necessary. "Isn't he supposed to be breathing?"

"Get away from him." I growled again giving in and finally looking at him. He bit his lip and smiled wide. It was what he wanted.

"Oh there's no need to worry about me Sherly." He stood back up and away from John but didn't move far enough for me to be comfortable. "Quite nasty what she did to him. Isn't it? Can he still hear me? John?!" He leaned down right next to his face again. "Johnny boy?!"

"He can't hear you."

"That's no fun." Moriarty pouted before turning and sliding up another chair from the room to the other side of the bed, symmetrical to mine. I made sure he didn't touch anything else and glanced at the camera again. There was still no one coming. "Don't worry, I'll take care of Ms. Brine for you." Moriarty pulled my attention back as he crossed his legs over and started thrumming his fingers on the arms of the chair. The rhythm meant nothing.

"Promotion coming her way?" I asked bitterly. It still didn't make sense to me. How I could have missed it or how Moriarty was a part of it. _  
_

"Oh no! No, no, no, no, no. Ms. Brine is a loose cannon. Much like her brother. I DON'T LIKE LOOSE CANNONS!" He suddenly exploded, much like a loose cannon himself, and his voice echoed in the small room. John didn't wake and no guard came inside. "Much too messy." His gentle tone returned from his minor, unnecessary explosion. "Though they are fun to watch." He didn't continue and I could feel his eyes on me again. I stayed looking at John a few more moments before giving in and regarding his existence again. He smiled as soon as we locked eyes. "Do you like the presents I've been leaving you?"

_Presents?_

_No packages. Not literal._

_Cases? Probably. _

_Or the deal. He would consider that a gift._

"I don't know what-"

"What about the best one? Called out to work on a case with pirates." I glanced over at him again as he squinted at me. I had assumed that he had something to do with that case. The circumstances for me getting it didn't really make sense. It didn't explain why he made me aware of that fact or let me have it in the first place. "Your dear brother did tell me how you always wanted to be one. Isn't that right? Dressing up and running around the house." His Cheshire cat's grin returned as he leaned up against the side of the bed. There was still no move against John but my eyes were locked on him. "You'd look rather dashing as one. Maybe I'll have you wear something next time you come round." The smile he had quickly fell from his face when I didn't reply. "Where's the fighting back? It's no fun unless you fight back."

_Keep him entertained or John will be in danger. _

"Why did you do this to him? I've done nothing wrong."

I hadn't broken the deal in any way. I had only enforced it. John was still unknowing so there was no way he did anything against it. There was no reason for him to do this. Tammy was the one who actually did it, had the motives, planted the relaxant, but Moriarty had control over everything. He said Tammy was a loose cannon but even he had control over the loose ones.

"This? I didn't do this." He mocked innocence in his voice and expression. "Doesn't mean I couldn't have stopped it. Either one of us could have. Oohhooo," The octaves of his voice jumped around as he twisted fully in his chair to face me, excited. "You haven't met him have you? He's right outside the door. I know you've been dying to meet him." He grinned at the word _dying_ raising his eyebrows to make sure I understood.

That only led me to have more questions as to how both Moriarty and Moran were able to stay in the building and how stupid Mycroft's men were for not catching on by now.

"See, I keep him on a tight leash. All I have to do is call." He tilted his head to the side a moment seeming to decide on something. "Or whistle." He tossed out and I took the opportunity to look at the camera again. It was beeping red, recording. I didn't understand why no one had come yet. There must have been a problem. "You can stop worrying about the cameras. I took care of them before you got here."

Mycroft's men couldn't be bought off so they would actually have to be fooled. It had to have been every camera in the system.

"Running on a loop?" I asked with fake interest.

"Sort of." He ran a hand over his face and slid his palm against his cheek, resting his elbow on the bed, gaping at me with his mouth open. He seemed to be looking at me for something but I didn't know what.

"I wasn't worried."

"No you're worried about other things." He pulled his eyes away from me and raked them over John's unconscious body.

Suddenly, he got up and put his hands back in his pockets and paced over to the window in the room, staring down at the street below. It would have caused alarm or some sort of flashback to the last encounter we had if it wasn't for the fact that the window was showing his reflection.

"I was right about you." He said out of the blue, not looking at me, continuing his gaze down. "You're not ordinary. Not like the rest of these mongrels walking around in ignorance." He tilted his head back and forth bouncing along with his words before popping out his lips and sighing with and exaggerated whine. "You're worse. You have the potential to be so much more." His hands came out of his pockets and turned to fists in the air. "To be above it all."

"To be like you?" I asked, recalling what he said in our last in-person conversation. He had said I was just like him. Truthfully we did have the similarities. The genius, the lack of morals, the lack of conscience. But we were nothing alike.

He twisted back around with a smile on his face as he walked back to the side of my chair. "Oh but you are me. You could be. But you let it all go for one simple, broken, delusional man." He over articulated ever adjective nearly spitting as he leaned into my personal space. "Do you even realize how delusional? I have the tapes if you want to watch. They make for a good laugh." He sing-songed his voice before breaking out into a great open smile. I glared at him and gripped John's hand tighter, trying not to lose the control I had. "What's that then? Getting mad at me?" He pulled away just a bit if only to get a better look at me. "Tisk tisk darling. Letting your emotions get the better of you?" He questioned with an unhappy growl and waited for me to answer him, but I refused.

He walked to the front of my chair and sat down on the edge of John's bed, just out of his reach but very much so pushing it for me to be alright. Moriarty grinned again, content with my discomfort. "You're probably thinking about killing me right now. Seb is right outside, get us both out of the way." He nodded towards the door before returning his scowl to me. "I'm sure your brother and his drones will help you out." He leaned forward, putting a hand on either side of my chair, trapping me in. "I can see how _badly_ you want it." Before I could pull away he had physically grabbed my free hand in his own.

"What-" I cut myself off when his hands brought mine over his neck, reminiscent of the position I had Tammy in that evening. Only this time it wasn't the smooth, small neck of the woman who tried to kill my John. It was the rough, stubble ridden neck of one Mr. Jim Moriarty. The man who ruined everything.

A wicked grin crossed over his face as he held my hand there, keeping me locked down with both of his own. His eyes widened in mad glee and his crooked smile continued to stay. "Wring my neck until no air is left. Looking me in the eyes and watching my life leave me." He squeezed my hand against his own throat making me feel the windpipe beneath and the warm blood that flowed around it. Each word vibrated his throat against my palm. "Just to be sure I'm actually dead this time."

I had to admit it was incredibly tempting, having him so close, literally directly under my fingertips. My fingers started to squeeze on their own and another smile broke out from him. He ran one hand down my arm, locking it around my elbow to push me even further.

"Don't worry. I'm sure John will understand." Hearing his name made me lose my sight on the man above me and jump the one on the bed. He still was unmoving and I felt his hand limp and warm underneath my harsh grip. It wasn't untrue. John, of all people to kill, would understand Moriarty deserved to die. "Just like he will understand all the other deaths you've caused." Moriarty pulled me away from John and back to was his attention.

That was his plan then. Guilt trip. I wouldn't be able to stop him, to kill him, because of guilt?

I wasn't going to let that happen.

As if he sense that he chuckled a bit, his Adam's apple bumping into my palm. "Then again, if Seb and I disappear, someone is bound to carry out the order. And there will be nothing I can do to stop them from pulling the plug." He twisted his neck in my hand to look over at John beside him.

It was true. Just like on the roof, Moriarty had the power. He had John.

There was nothing I could do.

I loosened my grip and he let my hand slide through his and back down to the arm of the chair. "Oh look at how dejected you are. Poor puppy kicked while he's down." He bounced down off of the hospital bed and rounded back to his seat on the other side. "You'll just have to go back to chipping away from the outside. Or have you given up on that? Have I given enough to satiate your insatiable needs?" I did not miss his hand sliding from his knee to rest on his inner thigh making the double entendre very clear. "The offer still stands." His voice dropped, leaving any kidding tone behind. "You've fallen Sherlock. You don't belong with the angels anymore."

"The answer is still no." I spat back, looking away from him and back to the hand in mine. John's bruising would not be helped by this conversation.

"You are fun aren't you? You're going to be fun to break. And that's just it. You will break. You're already starting to. I can feel it. My little fallen angel." He twisted his chair to face me completely and leaned forwards, as much over John as he could without touching. "You're stuck. You can't do a thing. But I got you. And you'll do everything I want. All you can do is dance for me. I finally got you dancing." He gave a gleeful chuckle before his face fell completely again. "Dance you will. Fight me you will. Because the day you stop fighting is the day I cut your strings. And what a string you have." He pointedly looked at John again and glared back at me. "No need to get tense darling." He lifted a hand and ran it along the bedding next to John's leg, still careful not to touch him. "I won't touch a hair on John's head. No," He curled his tongue in his mouth and shot it out to lick his lips. "I need John alive. Unless I get bored. You know what happened the last time I was bored. Don't make me bored Sherlock." With that he pushed off the chair and sauntered out of the room clearly humming the start of the chorus for _Stayin' Alive. _

His humming was a finish to his warning. On the roof Moriarty said that living was just so dull. That was why he killed himself and killed me. But a man like that, could never really kill himself. Not really. I couldn't. So if he got bored again, he would have to be more creative.

I didn't want to find out how.

* * *

**_Dinner in the microwave. You have to eat something. Have fun with the science and come home soon. - JW_**

I read the text off my phone as soon as Lestrade handed it to me. He had come to check on John and give me the cell. Molly had given it to him when he showed up at the hospital. Too late.

He was making some comments about John and asking if he was alright but I ignored him. I just kept re-reading. It was so simple and it could have been the last thing I'd ever gotten from him.

"Do you want to wait for your brother or should we just dive in now?" Lestrade sat down in the chair Moriarty had only just left, minutes ago. No one had brought any attention to the subject. I didn't see the point. He didn't do a thing to John and he was long gone. It was his own idiocy for not asking about the second chair's purpose.

"Now."

"Alright." Lestrade sighed, looking at John, but continued to speak. "Well the phone was a burner. Disconnected now. She left before we got to the hospital. Didn't leave anything behind. Myc's people are looking into the aliases now. The bomb was triggered when the ambulance drove over the manhole. Dual explosion. Two dead. We don't have evidence she put them there but I think we can safely say she did."

"Someone underneath her. She wouldn't want to get her hands dirty."

"She had people working underneath her?"

"The Brine family has a lot of assets. Explosive technician would be one."

Lestrade nodded and pouted his lips together. It was his tell that he was nervous or cautious to tell me something. He was deciding how to tell me. I already knew he had nothing to go on though. He was just deciding how to tell me.

"CCTVs show she disappeared shortly after the explosion. No trace of her anywhere."

She would either be too smart for the cameras or someone already got to her. Probably the latter.

"There won't be."

"How do you mean?" I didn't answer. He couldn't know of Moriarty's participation. "Sherlock?" He sighed again and decided to continue instead of pressing. Something he learned from his time with me. "All the pills tested positive for the drug. She had to have replaced his pills before he showed up at the hospital. It was probably easy for her to get his information. Working there."

_Or her brother got it first._

Since I wasn't speaking he decided to continue talking. "I'm going to have one of my men stand outside with the other. Just in case she decides to try anything." It was pointless but I wouldn't tell him. "Or you."

"Me?"

"You can't work this one Sherlock. You're too close." I had expected this at some point. I wasn't actually going to work this case but it was still stupid of him to think one measly guard could have stopped me if I wanted to. Not that I would leave John. "It's you she wanted to get to. She'd expect you to try and find her. Don't play into her game. Just let us handle this one."

"Fine."

It wouldn't matter. If Moriarty said he would 'take care' of her she was already dead. There would be no trail to follow.

He gave me a confused look, probably because I was complying, then started to leave.

"Call me if you need anything. I'm going to see what I can help with." He paused by the door and added, "We'll find her Sherlock. We will." The door clicked shut and I was alone again.

_No, you won't. _

* * *

After an agonizingly long wait, John finally started to breath on his own. His ventilator was replaced with a NC but he was still kept under. I still had to wait for him to wake up.

I was waiting to tell him I was leaving.

He deserved to know this time. I couldn't fake my death. I couldn't do that to him again.

I thought about saying goodbye and leaving without him knowing exactly where I was going. I could say I was going out for a smoke or something. Then never come back. I didn't think that would be much better.

He had to know.

I couldn't stay.

He was in danger every moment he was with me. People knew how much he meant to me. I didn't even realize how much he meant until that day. I honestly said I loved him. I wasn't in any state to think about why I said it or if he heard me or how he would react. It was too much to wrap my head around.

It was all too much.

I couldn't let them use him against me.

I had to savor every moment I had with him left. I would have to leave straight off from the hospital. I would sneak away from the guards outside. It would be easy.

No point in delaying it.

I would send him off with Mycroft, get him a new apartment and give him an at-home nurse. He would hate it, being looked after like that, but just until he got better from this. I had to make sure he got better.

First I had to make sure he woke up. Then I would figure out what to say. How to apologize. Make him see reason.

I only had till he woke up.

I hoped it would be a while.

I didn't really want to go.

I had to.

To be the man he needed me to be.

No matter how much I didn't want to.


	26. Chapter 26

**John POV**

* * *

I could have sworn I had just been doing something.

I had something important to do. Something important to say.

It wasn't anything bad. I was pretty sure I was happy. Very happy.

Something about the color black. I was wearing black? It was nice. A tux! I had been wearing a tux. I was standing in front of two wooden double doors waiting for someone. Someone was coming. I was supposed to meet someone? No. No, they were already there. Right next to me. I couldn't tell who it was. They were holding my hand. We were supposed to do something together. Something wonderful.

I woke up with the memory of the dream slipping very fast. It was gone by the time I saw the light hit my eyes.

That always happened with the good dreams. I would wake up just enough to know it was a dream, try and go back to sleep, and be unable to.

Then I blinked my heavy eyes again and saw the outline of my body hidden under a sheet in what looked to be a hospital bed. I was in a hospital bed. I could _see_ my hospital bed. I could see! I could open my eyes!

My breath hitched at the realization. Then I realized, my breath hitched. It was mine. I was breathing on my own. My lungs weren't screaming. Air was getting into them. They were relaxed and so was I.

I wiggled my fingers just a bit to double check and smiled when I felt one hand caught by something. I peeked over from under my tired eyelids and saw Sherlock slumped over next to the bed staring into nothing. No wonder I had a dream about holding someone's hand. I wiggled my hand a bit more and he jumped when he felt it. He quickly twisted his neck to look at me and I gave him a small smile. It was all I could give at the moment.

"John?" He whispered in a question to see my response. I smiled wider, ignoring the throbbing pain that was my head. The pain killers had probably started to ware off. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to rid myself of the pain, but before I could open them he already had his lips on mine. I smiled against his mouth and pushed back into him with what little energy I had. Apparently being drugged, tossed around from an explosion, and being sedated, really took it out of a man.

"Can you move?" Sherlock pulled away and asked, pulling his chair up closer so he wouldn't lean over to reach me. I nodded and decided how best to readjust my sitting position. They had me elevated, no doubt in case I decided to throw up from the concussion. Speaking of, my stomach was not doing anything good for me. Then I tried to push myself up and my chest decided to add to the mix.

I grunted at the pain that circulated through my whole body. "I don't think I want to." I gave a chuckle that I ended abruptly when more pain spasmed out. I managed to sit up enough and blinked a few more times as my body adjusted. Everything felt very stiff but I didn't want to stretch it out. That would hurt like hell.

Sherlock was just looking at me, gauging how much pain I was in and deducing everything I was feeling. He still didn't know one thing though. "How much do you remember?" Sherlock asked in his way, trying not to let me misread his question.

I closed my eyes and pretended to think about what I remembered. I never did decide how much I was going to let him know.

I could not let him know about my being awake in the ambulance, he would not be alright with that at all. I would have to say I passed out before then. That also meant I wouldn't be telling him about the man in the ambulance who unbuckled me. I would have to tell Greg.

That also meant he wouldn't know I heard about everything that happened to me. He would have to explain it to me all over again. Then again, for all I knew, he had obtained more information since I really was unconscious with the sedative and that was one way of getting all the information.

But if he assumed I heard nothing, he also would assume that I didn't heard him say he loved me. That might have been for the best. He would say it in his own time if he wanted to. I hoped that time would be sooner rather than later but I would hold onto the memory, hoping it wasn't oxygen deprivation that caused me to hear such a thing.

It would all be one big lie but it would be better if he didn't know about the pain. It was better if he thought I slept through it.

"I remember coming home from the hospital." Then I remembered I would have to pretend I didn't know, he knew, why I was there. This was going to get confusing. "Which I have to tell you about. I picked up some more Paxil." I pretended to look concerned that he would be mad. I just hoped my sleepy state helped me look the part. I was really a bad liar. "I ate dinner, watched some telly, texted you, and took one." Even he couldn't underestimate me realizing the pill caused all this. "Then I blacked out. I remember falling down and then nothing."

"Nothing else?" He was looking at me in that way that always made me feel I was under and x-ray.

"Explains why my head hurts." I lied with a chuckle. I knew full well why my head really hurt but I hoped the joke would defer his stare. I then realized that if I didn't know as much as I did, I wouldn't know how my entire body got banged up. "How did the rest of this happen anyway? I can't imagine a little slip caused all this." Again I smiled but let it slip because Sherlock was not even slightly amused. He was very distant in his gaze, anger rolling behind his eyes.

"There is more that happened after you blacked out." He spoke in a deadly tone and his grip on my hand tightened just a bit.

"Alright then." I squeezed his hand back, glad it didn't really hurt much to do so. It was warm and stiff if not a little sweaty. I had a feeling he'd had my hand like that for a while. "Fill me in."

"Tammy." Any sarcastic or jealous tone he had ever used before was lost when saying her name. Replaced by pure hatred. "She is not who she says she is."

"Then who is she?" I didn't actually know this part.

"Tammy is the half sister of Connor Brine also known as ICE. He was the head of the cocaine circle in England."

Okay. I was not quite expecting something so extreme. Crazy jealous psycho, mentally insane, or something along those lines. But half sister to a drug lord in England?

A drug lord in charge of the cocaine circles. It was probable that Sherlock had bought from him then. In some way or another. I wasn't going to bring it up.

Instead I focused on what he actually said. He _was_ the head of the cocaine circle. Did Tammy take over? Did he step down for her? How was the 'was' relevant. He always said something for a reason. "Was?"

"She blamed me for his death." There was a moment when Sherlock's eyes flickered in that way when he was remembering something. Lost in his head. It only lasted a moment and he didn't explain what he saw. "She decided to get to me through you." His eyes fell to where our hands were intertwined. "She laced your Paxil with pancuronium bromide. A muscle relaxant. Causes paralysis."

"Explains why I fell." And couldn't move. Or breathe. Or why I thought I was going to die.

"When she revealed herself to me I went to the flat and found you in the kitchen." He continued to squeeze my hand tighter as the fury behind his eyes slowly broke through to show on his face. He was visibly trying to control himself and I gripped his hand tighter to let him know I was there, hopefully grounding him. "The ambulance took you but it was another trick. She rigged it to blow on the way to the hospital."

"Explains all this then." I cut in, trying to play my part, but I didn't think he even heard me. He still wasn't looking at me.

"What I don't understand is how. You were strapped down. How did you fall out?" He gasped as he suddenly realized what I already knew. "The paramedic." He bounced quickly from being excited at finding the answer to furious for it to deadpanned and emotionless. "It doesn't matter. He's dead now."

"He's dead?"

"Died in the explosion."

"How-"

"Two dead. One driver, one in back. I got you out." He glazed over that as if it were just another fact to prove his point.

"You did?" Of course I had already figured it out but it was still funny to picture him, in all his lanky skinny glory, picking me up and actually being able to lift me from the wreckage of a burning ambulance. I could just picture it exploding behind him and he would just walk on without looking back. Just like a movie or something.

"Please, don't look at me like that." He still wasn't looking up at me but I realized I had quite the goofy grin stuck on my face.

"Alright." I still didn't stop smiling at him. His expression seemed to lighten slightly but he was still not quite looking at me. His eyes flickered to the end of the bed instead.

"Would you like to see your chart?"

"No. I'll look at it later. I got the jist of it." The reminder only made it hurt.

I waited for him to say something else but he wasn't. I knew he was leaving out the bit about how I wasn't able to breathe on my own or how close I was to actually dying. Maybe he thought I figured that out already with the paralysis or maybe he didn't want me to know. Maybe he didn't think I needed to. That would be like him.

Well there were still things I didn't know about that I had a right to. I assumed Greg would have stopped in at some point or something so Sherlock would have some more information. I wanted to know what to expect. I wanted to be included.

"Where is she then?" As soon as I asked his hand gave an involuntary twitch. He really was not in a good place if he was twitching so much. He usually had better control.

"Gone."

"As in?"

"As in gone John."

"Alright." I tried to sound comforting and reached out my other hand to rest on top of his.

Gone could still mean a lot of things. He wasn't telling me something. Something important. I could tell.

He wasn't in any mood to be pressed though. Instead of asking about her I decided to be more general. "Anything else exciting happen?" Sherlock became stock still and his stare went from my hand on his to the empty chair on the other side of the bed. I hadn't noticed that there. He was silent and I was beginning to worry about what he really wasn't telling me but he spoke before I could ask.

"Mycroft's people are guarding the hospital." I should have expected that. I was in a private room again after all. I was really starting to hate hospitals. At this rate I was going to have to switch careers. "Lestrade insisted on an extra door guard." Seemed I was right about Greg visiting. It explained the other chair.

It all kind of explained why Sherlock was so on edge. Not only because of all of this happening but also because he was surrounded by his brother's men and Lestrade's on top. He probably felt rather trapped. Sherlock was never good trapped.

"Well that seems a bit excessive. If she's gone." I only hinted a bit at the word gone to remind him that I still had no idea what that meant.

"She's not the only one out there."

Did she have others working for her outside the paramedic? Were more people under her command? Was that what the security was for?

"What do you mean?"

"There are many people out there who don't like me John. Who would like to see me hurt. Who would like me out of the way." His gaze fell from the chair to stare somewhere on the sheet covering me. I didn't see anything important there. He was just stuck in his mind. His other hand fell on top of mine as he continued to refuse to look at me. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" I squeezed his hand with both my own and tried to pull him a bit towards me. He wasn't budging. "Sorry for what?"

"I missed this. How could I have missed this? After how much I saw her, how much time I had to figure-"

"Sherlock this is not your fault. I'm okay. Really I am."

"Look at you. You're not okay."

"I'm breathing aren't I?"

"You weren't!" He snapped and finally locked eyes with me. I gasped a bit at how much anger and rage and actual pain I could see there. He looked completely distressed, on the verge of breaking.

That was the wrong choice of words on my part.

"Well I am now." He turned back away so I reached out, grabbed him by the jaw, and made him look at me. "And I will continue to do so. I promise."

"You can't promise something like that John." He shrugged his way out of my hand and went back to staring at nothing. "Not when you're around me."

"I don't understand." I dropped my hand and started circling over his. I knew this wasn't leading anywhere good.

"They know about you. As a Consulting Detective I have many enemies. Most are not clever enough to reach me so they grab what they can. I don't have many weaknesses. You are one of them if not the most important one. She, exploited my blind spot. Moriarty, had his snipers on the three of you but whose name did I call out first? Yours. He knew. She knew. They all know."

He seemed to only be half talking to me. He wasn't really making much sense. I didn't know where any of this was coming from or why hew as talking about the snipers and Moriarty. We hadn't brought that up in a very long time.

"Are you saying Moriarty did this?"

"I am saying that you are not safe. I never should have let it get this far."

Let what get how far? Me? I knew it was dangerous. It was part of the reason I stayed in the first place. Was he worried I would leave him? It was what he had been chanting before, when he thought I was unconscious. He had to know I wasn't going anywhere.

"You're talking like I'm going to leave you. You know I'm not. A little danger never scared me away. Let them come if they want." I wasn't really sure who the 'them' were. It didn't matter. "They're not going to get to me."

"Bravery is stupidity John. I've been all over the world hunting these people down. Not all of them were idiots. They _can_ get to you."

Alright, now everything was clicking together a bit better. He was worried those who he had put away would want revenge. I bet it was just the concussion making that connection not come instantly. Well didn't I just feel stupid.

"Then you'll stop them. I have every bit of faith in you."

"That's not enough."

I hated it when he just threw himself to the side like that. Nothing was going to happen to me. I wouldn't let it and he surely wouldn't. He needed to have more confidence. I would never understand where his lack of confidence came from. Especially with how much I complimented him.

"I believe it is."

"I made a mistake John and look where that put you." He waived around his free hand as if that made his point. "In the hospital. You nearly died." Again I got a small glimpse where he managed to look me in the eye. It was gone all to soon.

"I've nearly died countless times. This is nothing." If only he knew how much I truly did see. He would know that this really was nothing. "You did not make a mistake."

"Don't bother with that. Every second I am here results in more and more deaths. I am the poison that infects everything I touch. I bring the death of those around me. Soon I will be the death of you."

He went back to making absolutely no sense at all. He was poison now? It was never good when he was melodramatic.

"No you won't be. You'll be what stops-"

"I have to go John." He cut me off abruptly and stood from his chair, glancing at the door.

"Go?" I scoffed at how quickly that announcement came. I thought we were right in the middle of a conversation. An important one at that. "What do you mean go?"

"You deserved to know. Every second I'm with you brings you closer to your death. I cannot allow that to happen. You will not die on my account."

"Look at me. Sherlock, look at me." He turned a bit, deciding to listen to me for once, also not a good sign. I searched his face again, clinging onto his hand as best as I could.

I looked again. Really, really looked. All that pain and distress held something else. As his eyes searched my face, specifically my temple, I could see it. All that pain, all that anger, was layered on top of a giant amount of guilt weighing him down. I could see it in him and it was making him look completely destroyed.

"You're leaving me." It wasn't a question. I could see it in his eyes. This was what he had been getting at. He was leaving again.

"It is for the best. The farther away from me, the better you are." His hand started slipping through mine and I clamped down on top of it. He wasn't going anywhere.

"You promised you wouldn't leave again." He said he couldn't. He physically said he couldn't.

"I promised to do what was best for you."

"And you think this is?"

"I know it is."

"Is it?" The sarcasm that always seemed to come when Sherlock made a stupid decision or remark started leaking out of me. "See, because I thought I knew what was best for me. Huh. Weird that you do. Is that what it was the last time? Because I remember the last time you left, things didn't go so well for me."

"This time it will be different. I'm letting you know."

"Oh you're letting me know!" I threw his hand off me for the moment, not needing his touch. "Right! So much better than a phone call."

"John-"

"So you think that just because we _both_ missed something and I happened to end up in the hospital things will be better if you leave? Remember how I ended up in a hospital last time you left? You were there. Oh wait, that wasn't actually you!"

That was probably a low blow for him and on top of that I had just admitted to seeing the Sherlock hallucination in the hospital to him. I didn't really put that part in the journal. I hadn't put much about the hospital in the journal so Sherlock really didn't know.

"You didn't _happen_ to end up in the hospital." Sherlock matched my angry tone, looming over me, the frustration leaking out of him. "Someone put you here!"

"And that someone wasn't you!"

"It was because of me!"

The shouting was making my head feel like it was bound to crack open at any moment but I wasn't focused on the pain at the moment.

"If were going to play the cause and effect game then let's play it, shall we? So Tammy blamed you for her brother's death. Who killed her brother? What lead her to believe it was something you had a part in? Was Moran in charge of her? Moriarty? Blame the real reasons Sherlock. Blame the bad guys and stop blaming yourself."

"There are no good or bad guys here. I'm not a good guy John. Just look at me." He stood up straighter, throwing out his arms in a dramatic flourish. "I'm not the hero here."

"Who said you needed to be?"

"I did. When I saw what I am doing to you. I can't do this anymore. I'm leaving and I'm bringing the poison with me."

Bringing the poison? What a git. I glared at him as he reached down for the coat and scarf lying over the back of the chair.

"You are such a coward."

He stopped what he was doing and turned on his heels to face me. His face emotionless and stoic as he usually was when someone insulted him. "I-"

"Running away. That's what you always do, isn't it? Run away. You have it somewhere lodged in that thick scull of yours that you need to be alone. That you need to be secluded. That you need to be miserable. Stop being so goddamn selfish!" My chest was starting to hurt from all the yelling as well but I ground my teeth at the pain. This was too important to be distracted by something so meager as a little chest pain. "There are people who care about you Sherlock. You can't just run away because they do."

"I am not running away." It seemed I had stuck a nerve as he sneered at the notion. Good. I ran with that.

"Things get tough, a little bit hard, you make one mistake." I knew by saying he made one mistake was actually suggesting I believed he did but this wasn't about what I believed. It was about what he believed and getting him to stop being a moron. "You make one mistake and you throw the biggest temper tantrum I've seen. Leaving me, leaving this place, leaving everything behind and never coming back? Sounds like running to me."

He stared at me longer still. His eyes darted over my body again and again as he searched for whatever he had to say. His voice was smaller than I expected to be, not a yell or a shout, just a small statement, unwillingly given. "I don't want to."

"Then don't!" I was still to wound up to match that small tone. I would have jumped up if I could have moved. I felt like I had before, stuck screaming at him, unable to move, him not hearing a thing I had to say. "Can't you see you have that option?! They'll come for me even after you leave. I am willing to fight. I want you to fight with me. Stay here. You don't have to do this to yourself and you don't have to do it to me. Don't you know what will happen to me after you leave?" It had been so long since I had even thought about what would happen to me if he left. I hadn't let myself believe he would. I still couldn't believe he was actually suggesting it. I already knew the answer, I would be nothing. My voice fell, completely defeated, and done with arguing. "I won't live through it Sherlock."

"Yes you will. You're a fighter. You are Captain John Watson." Sherlock smiled slightly, a tight sad smile, as he lowered himself back down into his chair and lifted my hand from the bed, separating the fingers from the fist it was making. "You are meant to survive."

"I said live, not survive. I have nothing without you. If you leave again I'll be left with nothing but memories. How am I supposed to go back to that? I can't. I don't have a life to go back to." I'd be left with nothing but the thoughts in my head and whatever they decide to manifest into. "They'll come back. I know they will. I can feel it. If you leave I'll be left with them but they are not you. I'll be living with ghosts in my head to keep me company. How alive does that sound to you?"

"That will not happen." He sounded so sure as he wrapped his other hand around his own, circling mine in a tight grasp. "In time you will understand and you will move on. You have so much more life left ahead of you."

I shook my head and wanted to laugh out loud at the statement. "You think you know me. You think you can read me, deduce me. Predict my future. You are wrong. You have so much more life left in you as well. And how are you spending it? By trying to kill yourself."

"I am not trying to-"

"Well then what would you call it? Tell me." He didn't respond. "You know what will happen if you leave and know you're not coming back. You already started before. You will fall apart. You'll destroy yourself. You will break."

I meant everything that entailed. If he went off on his own for good he would be completely alone. Not only would the cocaine come back full circle but everything that came with it. He would stop eating right, stop sleeping, stop taking care of himself. He wouldn't go out, he would be alone in his head.

He once said alone protects him. Well he never really was completely alone. I knew what being completely alone could do to a person. I had been there. If he went there, I could only imagine how much worse it would be fore him. His own mind would be his poison, if that was what we were calling it.

He ignored everything I said and lowered his lips to the fist surrounding my hand. "I will keep you safe. Remember that John, I will protect you."

"I never asked for your protection. I don't want it!"

"I'm sorry." He stood up and kissed the top of my forehead, keeping his lips against the skin of my temple. "I have to go."

"Sherlock." He slipped his hand out of mine, bending it around to get out of my grasp. "Sherlock!" He grabbed his coat and scarf and started rounding the bed, heading straight for the door. "Sherlock Holmes you stop right there!" He wasn't looking back, just kept on walking, opening the door and walking straight through. "Sherlock!" I yelled but he didn't come back.

I took a second to myself, the panic and adrenaline all pumping through. Again I could hear my heartbeat pounding inside my ears as the blood flowed. I could feel the anxiety kicking in.

He was gone. Forever gone.

_Beep_.

He left me alone.

My partner, the man I loved, left me alone.

_Beep._

Completely alone.

I had nothing.

No one.

_Beep._

Just myself and the beep of the heart monitor.

_No._

I wouldn't accept this. This idiot was not going to destroy himself and us just because of some diluted idea that he needed to save me from himself.

I pushed up in the bed and groaned at the pain that all my muscles were giving me. As soon as my ankle touched the floor I knew my sprain was not going to like what I was about to do. My head didn't like the sudden movements either.

Still I soldiered on, ripping out everything I was attached to, and pushed onto my feet. I walked as fast as I could to the door where I saw the two guards on either side. I looked down the hall and saw the back of his coat billowing down the corridor. He hadn't gotten very far.

"Sherlock!" I yelled but he didn't turn around so I turned to the two guards. "Get him. Now. Bring him back here. No excuses." My captain's tone hit them full on and the snapped into attention and ran down after Sherlock. He heard them coming and started running himself, only to be cut off by someone exiting a room with an empty hospital bed. He was on his way to slipping past it when one of the guards grabbed him by the arm. He was twisted around on the spot but managed to slink through, just in time for the second guard to use the position of the hospital bed to tackle Sherlock against it and pin his arm behind his back. The first guard grabbed the second arm and pinned it as well. Sherlock grunted as he was lifted back up and forced to walk towards me and towards the room, annoyance and a bit of pity on his face.

As soon as he was within talking distance to me he shook his head and started to wiggle a bit. The guards looked down but he wasn't getting out. Just wiggling it seemed. I knew better than that.

"I'm sorry John. I have to go." His arms started to slip out and I could see his coat caught in the clutches of the guards starting to lose the man it held. Just as he was about to break free I yelled.

"Did you mean it?!"

I had caught him off guard and it stopped him in his tracks, just out of the hold but not a step away from where the guards were standing. I held up a hand to prevent them from tackling him again.

"Wha-"

"Did you mean it?" I pushed off the door frame I was leaning on and walked forwards to trap him between me and the two bulky men behind him. "Or did you only say it because you thought I couldn't hear you? Or because you thought I could die?"

"I don't know-"

"Use your head Sherlock. Yes you do."

I waited as his eyes flickered about and widened at the sudden realization of what I had just confessed to. That I had just confessed to hearing him say he loved me.

"You were awake?" That terror and guilt flooded back into his eyes. "The entire time?"

"Missing the point. You asked me never to leave you. I said and will say, I never will. How can you be leaving me after asking that of me? Especially with what else you said."

He was at a loss for words and shook his head looking at me and at the door to my room. "John, you're hurt. You need to lie down."

I wanted to roll my eyes at his avoidance but stepped aside to let the guards guide him back in. He walked in and I shut the door behind him, facing him, standing against it. I wasn't about to lie down anytime soon. I just shifted my weight to my good ankle and ignored the rest.

"Go on. Say it. Or where you lying?"

The horror was still stuck on his face as he tried to grasp at what to say. "I wasn't-"

"Then why did you say it?! Have you done it? Have you analyzed and cataloged and reworked your system, concluding that you were supposed to say something like that? Or did you actually feel it? Was it in here?" I pointed towards his chest, deciding not to touch my own. He was standing too far away for me to actually jab him. A safe distance and a good idea on his part. "Something that just came out but you had to say it because you couldn't hold it in?" He looked completely lost. Emotions, of course he did. "Did you mean it or not?" I inched forwards, still making sure I had a good block on the door. I breathed deep trying to sound more understanding than demanding. "How did you feel when you said it?"

"I haven't looked at how it made me-"

"How did it feel? No analyzing, nothing like that. Just say it. Answer the damn question."

He looked completely petrified and completely put on the spot. It was obvious he had never really not analyzed before. At least not something like this. He kept searching around the room with his eyes as if that would give him the answer.

"I felt..."

He lost what ever he was saying and continued to panic so I walked forwards a bit more gently and reached out a hand to him, resting it on his arm. "Yeah?"

"It felt..." He looked down at my arm and ran his eyes up to my face, always searching. "It felt...liberating."

My heart jumped a bit at the answer and I was glad I wasn't hooked up to the heart monitor at the time. "And do you think that's normal?"

"I don't know." He was still clearly confused, his face scrunched in an unnatural way. "I've never said it to anyone." He was almost sheepish in his admission but that was more from confusion than embarrassment. He would not be embarrassed about something like this.

"Do you honestly think that was just a slip of the tongue? Sherlock, you don't just say things. Did you mean it?"

"I guess I-"

"No guessing. Did you mean it or not?" I thought quickly about adding in an ultimatum. That if he didn't mean it, if he didn't love me, then he could go. But I was scared that would be the true answer. I was scared he would say that only to make me allow him to leave. "No playing games with me. Answer me truthfully."

Again he went back to searching my face, his eyes darting back and forth as he thought up his answer. There was still a bit of panic as he opened his mouth and breathed out; "Yes."

I allowed myself to smile, just a bit. "Then I'm going to tell you something you may not know." I moved my hand down to find his and reached over with the other one so both his hands were in mine, resting at his side. "When two people love each other, they don't run away when things get hard. They don't blame their problems on the world, even if the world is their problem. They fix them together because that is the way it is meant to be. Breaking apart two people who love each other is the worst thing that anyone can do. That is why love drives people to murder and mayhem. It is not stupidity like you say. It is because they were driven apart when they were not meant to. Love does crazy things to people. It may make them stupid or silly or crazy or whatever but it is not stupid to love someone. It is the best feeling in the world if you let it be.

"It will get hard because that is what happens when two forces are drawn together, no matter how right they are for each other. They clash on occasion. But that does not mean they run away. If you find someone who loves you and you love them back then hold onto it. Don't run away because you're scared." I was definitely hearing a bit of my mother in me at that moment. She always loved to give prophetic speeches about love and life and things like that. It seemed it rubbed off a bit. "Because things may get tough for us. Hell, I know they will. We of all people do not live dull and normal lives. That is one of the things I love. It is because it gets tough and because we fight together that we work. People may come and try to hurt me, hurt you, but I am not going to let them ruin something I found. I love you Sherlock Holmes. You don't want to go, I don't want you to go, and I love you. If you love me, say so. And understand that it is okay to love someone. You will not loose yourself. Things will only get better."

His eyes never left me but the panic seemed to leave him. He seemed a bit sad as he shook his head at me trying to find something to say. Always thinking about something. "They won't be better. It will get worse."

He was talking about the mob of people that wanted to come after him. I nodded my head a bit. "Maybe for us. But that's just it. It will be the two of us. If you leave you will be on your own. I don't want you to be on your own. I want you here with me in 221B where you belong. Where we belong. We will solve our problems together. If you don't love me, if you deny it, if you don't want to, if you actually believe you don't, then go. But if you do love me, I won't let you go. I'm not going to let you go. I will not allow you to go. You will not break my heart again. I forbid it." I chuckled a bit at the inside joke but didn't really expect the same reaction.

"It's too much." He shook his head and started to pull away.

"I'm here." I stepped forwards a bit again, ignoring my ankle, and running my hands up his arm to hold him higher. "I'm always here if you need me."

"When."

"When what?"

"You are always there when I need you. I always seem to and you are always there."

"It's what I'm here for."

"I should be there for you too." He looked me over again and before I could stop him, he had one arm under mine and he was leading me back to my bed, taking the weight of my bad leg. He let me sit on the edge of the bed, I was glad for the weight to be taken off, and he rounded in front of me with both his hands resting on my legs as he sat in his chair. "John Hamish Watson," He chuckled a bit and shook his head before smiling and grabbing my face between his palms. "I think I love you and I am staying right here with you."

My face broke out in a smile as he leaned up and started kissing the living daylights out of me. He was careful and attentive as he knew where all my injuries were but there was still an underlying force there as he held me and I held him. We broke apart both giggling like children before my ribs started protesting.

Even then I couldn't stop it.

Sherlock stayed and we kissed and we talked and Greg even stopped by. I was filled in on the meaning of the phrase 'gone' as he told me Tammy had left no trail. It was no wonder Sherlock was so bent out of shape about it. I wanted to tell him it was okay to go and find her but I was still worried about him leaving my side. I was also a bit worried about what he would do to her if he found her.

The cynical part of myself told me that he only said what he did so he could wait until I fell asleep and he would leave me then. To let me hear what I wanted to hear. It just didn't seem right though. I knew my trust was still a bit shaky but Sherlock wouldn't say 'I love you'. Not to me. Not unless he meant it. It didn't mean he wouldn't leave at some point, but he meant it.

I stayed up as long as I possibly could but my heavy eyelids did not go unnoticed.

"You should get some sleep." Sherlock was in his chair looking up at the TV of some show we had just been watching. He had been watching, I had been fading in and out.

"No I'm fine." I forced my eyes back open but they stubbornly started to close again.

"Don't lie John. You're not good at it." I smiled with my eyes closed, trying to hold on if only for a few more moments. "I'll be here when you wake up." I opened my eyes to find Sherlock much closer than when I had them open only moments before.

"How can I be sure?" Each blink made it harder and harder to keep them open.

"Because I apparently love you. And I'm not done with you yet."

"Not quite sick of me?"

"Not yet. Besides, running around with a sprained ankle and cracked ribs? You're a danger to yourself. Someone needs to look after you."

"Sherlock you... idiot."

He chuckled and I felt his lips fall on my forehead again. "Sleep." Within a second I was out like a light.

I knew it. However unsure I was, I knew it. We would be fine and we would face whatever or whoever was to come whenever it did. Whether that be sooner or later.

Unfortunately, it was always sooner.

* * *

**AN: **Ahh! The fluff! It burns!

Thanks for your reviews by the way. They make me smile every time. I hope you continue to enjoy.

My 2 hell weeks are starting. I am ASMing a show which means they take away my life. 5 hours a day, every day, on top of classes and other such homework. I'll try to at least get one chapter up by the end, though I really don't know how much time I'll have. Then I have Thanksgiving break so yay! At least you end this one with happy fluff time instead of a cliffhanger... sort of.

We still have like 8 chapters to go (I don't know I didn't count). Including your bonus which will come. Promise ;)


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